The Red and the Grey
by bloodwrites
Summary: Winner, 2012 Paint it Red Best Het Romance! Spoilers up to season 3 finale; directly follows events of 3x24. A new nemesis appears on the scene to avenge Red John, targeting Lisbon to get to Jane. Creepy dollhouses, life on the lam, and sexy Jisbon times abound.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter One_

Three days into his incarceration, Patrick Jane lost his sense of smell. And, subsequently, his sense of taste. It wasn't entirely unwelcome, really, as prisons aren't exactly known for their olfactory or culinary delights. For this reason – and perhaps because, like so many things of late, it didn't really seem to matter terribly much – he didn't tell anyone of his condition.

He merely continued with his days. The machinations were in place to get him out – he knew this. His lawyer certainly droned on about it enough; about his request for a speedy trial, the options Jane should consider when it came time to plead his case.

"Well – I'm guilty, of course," Jane said at one such meeting, a bit surprised that anyone would suggest otherwise. How many people had seen him gun Red John down in the middle of a plaza, after all?

The lawyer was a short man with thinning hair and a penchant for fussing with his jacket whenever he didn't like what Jane was saying. He was about to tie himself in a knot at the moment, poor little man.

"You had reasons, though. I'd like to plead temporary insanity. Your history in the institution after Angela – "

Jane looked up sharply at the name. No one used that name anymore.

"Your wife," the little lawyer amended. "That man murdered your wife and daughter."

"Yes – I'm quite aware of what that man did, but thank you for reminding me. I wasn't insane. I wasn't defending myself. I was avenging the murder of my family, and I have no desire to drag their memory back into the public eye with a lengthy trial rehashing all the reasons I was justified in shooting Red John in cold blood. Life is surprisingly comfortable here. Whatever they're offering, take it. I'll serve my time."

The lawyer argued a bit more, but Jane had already moved onto other things. When the time came to return to his cell, he went quietly. Lay down on his bed and stared at the springs of the bunk above him, which belonged to a young Hispanic man with a predilection for stealing fast cars and an unhealthily close relationship with his mother.

Everything had gone grey. That's what it was like. It was an odd feeling, really – for years, Jane had grown accustomed to a heightened sense of light and dark, euphoria and despair, with the bleak shadow of his family's death an undercurrent to every moment of joy he experienced. Losing his family had plunged him into a sort of bipolarity – colors were brighter, pain was sharper, the moments that he could enjoy, he relished.

That seemed to be gone, now.

Seven years had passed since he'd held his wife in his arms, made love to her, worshipped with his body and his heart and even his soul, if such a thing existed. Seven years since he'd held his daughter's hand, woken to her laughter, kissed her goodnight.

He did not regret killing Red John.

It was the least he could do for the family whose fate he had sealed – the very least, and it still wasn't enough. Nothing would be enough. That was the thing he was coming to realize, and the thought that this emptiness, this bottomless void, was the way he would spend the rest of his days, was frankly… unsettling.

Lisbon would not speak to him. He tried calling, but she wouldn't accept the charges and she wouldn't call him back. He wrote to her – or started to, but it came out maudlin and false and he threw the page in the trash, wishing he had never tried in the first place.

Rigsby was Jane's first visitor in prison. The consultant's arraignment had not gone well – bail was denied despite the work he had done with the CBI, and Jane was remanded to custody until the trial. He suspected that some of his more indelicate stunts with the powers-that-be at the CBI had something to do with the poor outcome. Rigsby, Cho, Van Pelt, Hightower, and even LaRoche had been at the hearing. Lisbon had come, as well, but she hadn't wanted him to see – she sat in the back, apart from everyone, and hurried out when Jane was handcuffed, her head down, her arm in a sling.

And now, two weeks later, here was Rigsby. The younger man looked a bit tired, but seemed surprisingly at ease seated at the table in the visitors' area, while children played and spouses chatted.

"Sorry I couldn't get here sooner," Rigsby began.

Jane waved him off. "Please. I'm sure things must be chaotic since…" he lowered his eyes. Stared at his shackled hands. Searched for a joke, something to lighten the mood, but realized he didn't have the energy for it. He had no idea what to say.

"Yeah, things have been crazy," Rigsby agreed. Once they were seated across the table from one another, the agent looked more uncomfortable. Why the hell had he come in the first place?

"How is everyone?" Jane finally asked. Once it was out there, he realized how much he genuinely wanted to know.

Rigsby shrugged his broad shoulders. By the look on his face, no one was doing that well.

"All right, I guess. I mean… A lot happened."

"Yes, of course. Silly of me. How's Grace?"

Rigsby blushed – the same blush he always got when Van Pelt's name came up. The fact that at least one thing hadn't changed was oddly comforting.

"She's okay. I mean… She's taking it pretty hard."

"That's understandable. I mean… One would, when forced to shoot one's fiancé, I expect."

Rigsby had no response to that. They sat there in miserable silence for a minute or more. Jane figured that if he remained mute for another two minutes, the other man would eventually give up. He glanced at the clock on the ugly concrete wall.

"Cho's heading things up for a while," Rigsby said instead.

Jane felt a pang of sadness. Remorse, perhaps? Not for Red John, though – for the collateral damage. Which had been significant.

"Really? I would have thought Lisbon would be on her feet again by now."

He knew, in fact, that Lisbon was on her feet again – he'd been checking on her. Following her progress as best he could from behind prison walls.

"Yeah… She took a leave, though. The bullet hit her shoulder, tore something in there."

Jane thought of the last time he had spoken to her. Of her whimpers, the pained gasp as she'd dragged herself to O'Laughlin to retrieve the phone number that would seal Red John's fate.

Jane had never said thank you.

He hadn't stopped her. Hadn't said, 'For God's sake, woman, just lie still and wait for the ambulance. This will wait.'

He hadn't said anything at all.

"She's got physical therapy, that kind of thing, trying to get her strength back."

"Of course."

That didn't explain why she couldn't tend to the administrative side of her position, however. He tried to imagine what Lisbon was doing now – without the job. He had predicted she would immerse herself in her duties once he was gone, intent on mending the damage he had inflicted on her team.

It unnerved him, thinking that she wasn't working at all.

What was she doing?

Rigsby cleared his throat. "So, uh – I just wanted to come by, see how you're doing. Let you know we're all thinking of you. Everybody says 'hey.'"

Jane smiled faintly at the lie. Rigsby stood.

"I guess I should get going."

"Yes," Jane agreed gratefully.

He watched Rigsby start to walk away. For the first time in two weeks, something penetrated the fog that seemed to surround him since he'd pulled the trigger and Red John had fallen.

Pain.

Loneliness.

An unexpected pang of despair so deep that it physically shook him. He pushed past it while simultaneously clinging to the feeling, wondering at its ability to spur him to action when nothing else had.

"Wayne," he called after the man. Rigsby turned. Paused for just a moment, and then returned to the table.

Jane met his eye for the first time since the agent had arrived, unable to hide his emotions this time.

"Thank you for coming," he said softly.

Rigsby studied him. Jane disliked how naked he felt, how raw; he missed his suit, suddenly, very much. The orange prison coveralls weren't a wardrobe one could hide inside very effectively.

"Yeah, sure," Rigsby said. His words came easily, though his eyes belied his distress. "I'll be back in a couple days. Wednesday. That cool?"

Jane nodded. Repeated the word quietly. "Wednesday. Yes. That would be good."

True to his word, Rigsby returned on Wednesday, and then was back again the following Saturday. This time, he brought a box of herbal tea, though Jane had not asked him to do so. He was touched at the gesture. Their conversation was less stilted this time; he realized he'd been looking forward to the visit for the past two days. They played checkers – Jane would have preferred chess, but Rigsby admitted that he was never particularly good at the game and, further, had no desire to learn.

The agent seemed singularly at ease in the visitors lounge; Jane understood that this was likely due to a childhood in which such facilities had become so commonplace that they'd begun to feel like a second home. He didn't mention this, however.

Halfway through their second game of checkers, Jane finally began making inroads toward the conversation he knew he would eventually need to have.

"So… You and Grace – you're living together now?"

Rigsby blushed furiously, as Jane had known he would.

"We, uh… We're not living together. I'm just, y'know – staying there. It's not like that."

"No, I suppose not," Jane agreed. He jumped two of Rigsby's men, landing on the other side of the board. Rigsby wasn't much of a strategist.

"She's having dreams," Rigsby admitted after a few seconds. He looked uncomfortable for a moment. Then, he leaned in, lowering his voice.

"Bad ones – nightmares. I stayed on her couch, that first night after…"

Jane nodded. There was no need to elaborate.

"I woke up 'cause I heard her scream, and then she just… Cried. A lot. Grace was never that way before."

"Grace never had to gun down her fiancé to save her team," Jane countered evenly. Rigsby grimaced.

"Yeah, I guess you've got a point. Anyway, she's still having them. She went to see a shrink – he said it'd just take time."

"He's right," Jane said. The heroic, former-football-playing fiancé had been too short-lived to leave indelible scars on Van Pelt's psyche. Not when she'd been so conflicted about choosing between he and Rigsby in the first place.

"Two weeks more," he said definitively.

"Two weeks more of what?"

"Two weeks more of nightmares every night," Jane explained. "Crying every day. Then she'll be angry – you'll want to make yourself scarce for that part, I'd expect. She'll pour herself into her work, but she'll keep seeing her therapist. She's not self-destructive."

Not like Lisbon, he tacked on silently. Rigsby caught his eye; Jane realized that he'd gotten the inference.

"No," Rigsby agreed. "Grace is way too healthy for that stuff. She'd never wall herself up. Stop answering her phone. Leave everybody in a lurch."

Jane took Rigsby's last man, and stared at it for a moment. He thought of Lisbon suddenly: the feel of her slight weight the day she'd allowed him to catch her. Lisbon in pink taffeta hauling miserably at her top, face flushed, hair askew. _An angry little princess. Someone stole your tiara. _

"You haven't spoken with Lisbon at all?" Jane asked. The visiting hour was nearly up. He put the checkers back in their box while Rigsby sat and watched.

"Nobody has. Cho went by her place, but she wasn't there."

"Perhaps she's visiting family."

Rigsby scoffed. "Yeah – I bet she's having a blast. What the hell's she thinking, anyway?"

"She'll be fine. She has the same urge toward self preservation that the rest of us do," Jane said. He sounded argumentative. "She just needs time."

Rigsby looked unconvinced. He stood and pushed the box of herbal tea across the table to him.

"I better go. I'll come back next week."

The words 'You don't have to,' died on Jane's lips before he could get them out. Thus far, Rigsby was the only one who had come to visit. Not that Jane deserved visitors – he wasn't delusional, after all. He knew precisely what he had done when he made the decision to put his need for vengeance over Lisbon's lust for justice. And while he had known for some time that it would come to this, he still found himself unwilling to surrender the one tie he had left to the CBI. To Lisbon.

"Thank you for the tea – they don't have much of a selection here," he said instead. He didn't tell Rigsby that it hardly mattered, now that everything tasted the same. They said an awkward goodbye, and then Jane waited for a guard to reappear and take him back to his cell.

Jane first heard the name Ellie Jennings a few days later. By this time, he had become accustomed to the daily schedule in prison – morning wake-up, breakfast, time in the yard for card games and endless pacing, working out for those so inclined (he was not). As he had done during his brief incarceration with the CBI, he made friends easily enough, though he found he had little patience for games this time, no desire to dazzle anyone.

He listened to the other prisoners when they talked; kept to himself; tried to stay out of the way. Lived for the moments of solitude when he could lie on his back and dream of the past. To his surprise, those dreams were no longer comprised solely of his life with his wife and daughter. Occasionally, more recent memories would slip in: his couch at the CBI, Van Pelt's laughter, fast cars and endless puzzles and, too frequently, an angry little princess in pink taffeta, with a smattering of freckles and blazing green eyes.

It was a Wednesday afternoon when it happened – he was expecting Rigsby in an hour or so. The entire day had felt different: an energy held high in the chest, a sort of pressure that several of the inmates seem to carry on their overly muscled shoulders. Jane went to the yard feeling on edge, ever mindful of those around him.

It was an uncharacteristically gray day for southern California, a low-lying fog on the horizon. Their time outside was cut short by a fight – something Jane would have watched with great fascination had he been on the outside looking in. Now that he was here, however, these outbursts simply unnerved him.

It took three guards to break the men up, during which time other scuffles broke out in other areas of the yard. More guards arrived, wielding clubs and tasers, shouting in a vain attempt to regain control. As soon as a group of inmates had fallen in line behind a few of the guards, Jane followed suit, anxious to return to his cell. He was careful to avoid eye contact – when the men were heightened, anything could spark their ire, and he had no desire to be the focus in such circumstances.

His group was shepherded inside amid shouts and threats. They were nearly through the doors, Jane packed in tightly between two other inmates, when he felt a hand close around his upper arm. The man behind him pressed in tight, a voice at his ear.

"Ellie wanted me to say hi."

Jane didn't move, the chill in the man's voice stopping him cold.

"I don't know any Ellie," he said quietly.

"You will. She wanted me to tell you Red John wasn't alone in this world. Not like you."

They moved forward with the rest of the inmates, another two or three steps. Jane twisted to try and get a glimpse of his assailant. The hand tightened around his bicep; the body moved still closer, and Jane could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

"Red John's not done with you yet," the man whispered.

The shank sank in below Jane's kidney – an unexpected piercing that made him cry out, as much in surprise as pain.

He fell to his knees while the prisoners kept moving, surging around him.

The world went still.

Lisbon was in the infirmary when he awoke nearly twenty-four hours later. As written by Hollywood, she should have burst into tears at sight of his eyes as they fluttered open, a pained smile on his lips.

Lisbon was never really the Hollywood type, however.

The moment she realized that he was awake, a look of pain flashed in her eyes – so pure, so naked, that it pierced Jane nearly as effectively as the shank. She left for the doctor, then waited by the door until it seemed clear that Jane would, in fact, survive. He opened his mouth to speak to her, to attempt some kind of apology, but she fixed him with green eyes brimming with hurt and anger and betrayal.

He closed his mouth.

She left.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

Later that same day, after Jane had woken in the infirmary and caught that fleeting – and wholly unsatisfactory – glimpse of Lisbon at his bedside, Rigsby and Van Pelt also paid a visit. As a result of his attack, he had been given a room alone in an isolated annex of the prison's limited medical facilities. Jane wasn't certain what he had done to merit being allowed visitors outside pre-approved hours, but he wasn't about to complain.

Rigsby came in with that curiously easy manner he had adopted since Jane's arrest; Grace, on the other hand, looked most decidedly _un_easy. There was a trace of hardness to her when she first walked through the door – an edge to her gaze that Jane had seldom seen before. One look at their former consultant in the hospital bed, however, and all that hardness vanished. She pulled a chair up to his bedside, her eyes brimming.

"You're such an idiot," was the first thing she said. And then, she burst into tears.

Since Jane had never been particularly comfortable with Van Pelt's shows of emotion from the start, it seemed cruel to subject him to such a display now, in his condition. He squirmed in his bed, hoping that Rigsby might intercede. Instead, the agent stuffed his hands into his pockets and stepped away from the scene, concerning himself with a poster describing in horrific detail the various stages and types of sexually transmitted diseases one might be privy to within prison walls.

"I'm fine, Grace – there, there." He patted her hand awkwardly. "Honestly – look at me."

She sniffled and rubbed her eyes. After a few seconds, she met Jane's eye. For the first time, he noted her obvious fatigue, the weight she'd clearly dropped since he had seen her last.

"I'm all right, Grace," he soothed. "You see?" He flashed the most brilliant grin he could summon. "I'm peachy."

"You're not peachy– you're in jail, Jane. And everything's awful at the CBI, and Craig…" She all but choked on the name. It looked as though she might start crying again at any moment.

Jane sat up as best he could, wincing at the effort. He glanced around the room, desperate for a reprieve. Rigsby had his back to them both, clearly intent on forcing Jane to deal with Van Pelt's histrionics unassisted. The problem, Jane reasoned, was that Grace wasn't like the others on the team. If the catastrophe with O'Laughlin had happened to Lisbon, for example, she may have refortified her defenses, but it hardly would have been shattering for her. Unlike the rest of them, however, Grace Van Pelt had been raised to believe in happy endings. A tragic mistake.

Jane moved in a shade closer. Van Pelt always smelled like lavender and honey; now, with his nose on the fritz, he tried to conjure that sense memory. He had always liked the way Van Pelt smelled.

"Things will be all right," he promised, though in his experience that had rarely proven to be the case.

She sniffed again. "You don't know that."

"No – you're quite right, I don't. But one can hope," he said lightly.

He hesitated a moment before leaning in closer, and wiped a tear from her eye. If it were Lisbon, he would never have been allowed this close; Lisbon didn't allow others to see her cry, and physical contact was discouraged. Grace merely smiled at him, a faint blush coloring her cheeks at her emotional display. The wonders of a woman raised with a healthy male role model never ceased to amaze him.

"You look awful," she said.

"Well, thank you. That's always nice to hear." Before she could continue with her line of thought, he made a show of furrowing his brow. Ignoring the persistent pain in his side, he raised his hand to Van Pelt's left ear, deftly producing a gold coin he'd palmed a moment before.

"What's this? Are you smuggling dubloons in for me, Van Pelt?"

Clearly against her better judgment, Van Pelt smiled at that – a winning, girlish smile that echoed those that had endeared her to Jane from the start.

"How did you do that?"

"You know I never reveal my secrets. But look at it – it's quite lovely, isn't it?" He held it at eye level and waved it back and forth, letting it catch the light. "So lovely," he repeated. For a moment, he was mesmerized himself. "Look at the way the light bounces off it. Light and dark, shape and shadow…" His voice softened to a rhythmic lull as he flipped the coin back and forth. Van Pelt watched, transfixed.

"Look at the way the colors shift and fade - gold and silver, light and dark, shape and shadow. It almost makes you sleepy, doesn't it, the way the light moves in and out, again and again, until your mind is fixed on the color. On all those shadows." He paused for a moment, studying her face. Her eyes had gone still, her eyelids at half mast. Rigsby was watching with a surprisingly inscrutable expression; Jane ignored him and turned his attention back to Van Pelt.

"After you leave here, Grace, you and Rigsby are going out for lunch – somewhere decadent." Her gaze started to drift. "Keep looking at the coin, Grace - the flash of light, the flash of dark. Light and dark, shape and shadow," he repeated the phrase once more. "You're going to enjoy the food and the company, and while you're there, you'll begin to feel the sadness slowly lifting. Won't that be nice, Grace?"

She nodded with a pained smile, eyes still fixed on the coin as it flashed in and out of a single shaft of sunlight filtering into the darkened room.

Rigsby had stopped his pacing. His inscrutable gaze had changed to clear disapproval; he was about to intervene on Grace's behalf. Jane held up his hand to hold him off a moment more.

"When you leave here, you're going to feel lighter. And when you go to bed tonight, I want you to say these words. Are you listening, Grace?"

She nodded again. Rigsby was tensed, waiting for whatever came next. Jane licked his lips. He felt tired, suddenly. Tired of all of it.

"Just eight little words, Grace. 'I couldn't have known. I will trust again.' Can you say those words for me now?"

A single tear slid down her cheek. For a moment, there was silence in the room.

"Grace," Jane said. He waited until he had her full attention before he continued. "Just say the words. It's all right. They are true, you know."

Another slight nod. "I couldn't have known," she said softly.

Jane smiled. He took her hand, tapping her wrist at the same time. Van Pelt's eyes refocused, the intensity broken between them. She blinked twice.

"I, uh…" She broke off, confused. But better, Jane thought. Rigsby came over and put a hand on her shoulder. It was a simple gesture, really, but it spoke volumes; there was a proprietary air that had never been there before - not even when the two had dated.

"Grace, we should let Jane rest."

"Yeah, of course – you're right." She stood, then leaned over and hugged Jane gently. It was an odd sensation – odd to be touched, but also odd to take as much comfort in the gesture as he did. He let himself sink into the embrace, closing his eyes, his chin resting at her shoulder.

"We love you, Jane," she whispered in his ear. "You're gonna get through this. We'll make sure."

He blinked back an unexpected onslaught of emotion himself. She broke away after a few seconds, and then Rigsby patted him on the shoulder, promising a game of checkers soon. And then…

They were gone.

And he was there.

And, for the first time since Red John had fallen, Jane wished desperately that he was not.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean, they're granting me bail – the judge denied bail. I was there. I remember it quite clearly."<p>

The little lawyer – Overton was his name – had returned, and was now seated at Jane's bedside. Three days had passed since the incident in the prison yard. Jane was feeling better, but he was dreading the moment when he would have to return to the general population. The voice that had whispered from behind him that afternoon woke him frequently from a dead sleep, merging with dreams of Red John and Lisbon, Angela and Charlotte... It whispered in the stillness, a new name added to the long list of names that haunted him.

Ellie.

Who in hell was Ellie?

"That was before the stabbing," Overton said. "A couple of people came forward from the CBI. People who want you out of here."

He looked up sharply. "Which people would that be, exactly?"

"Hightower. LaRoche. People with a vested interest in you closing this chapter of your life."

"If only it were that simple."

The lawyer studied him. "You're not hearing me. I'm telling you – it _is_ that simple. You just post the bond. The judge has two stipulations, and you're a free man."

Jane braced himself, not at all certain what to expect. "And those stipulations would be…?"

"You'll need to wear a monitoring device."

He imagined himself in a halfway house swindling fellow convicts at cards all day, a lojack 'round his ankle.

Not an appealing thought. Better than getting skewered in the prison yard again, however.

"You said two stipulations," he said.

The lawyer nodded. He looked away, which served to raise both Jane's curiosity and his defenses.

"Out with it, please. What could be so terrible?"

"It's not terrible," Overton said quickly. "It's good, actually. We all agree it could be very good." He took a breath. A bit dramatic, this little lawyer of his. "You're to return to duty consulting with the CBI."

It shouldn't have been as unexpected as it was; Jane had given up being surprised by people ages ago. And it made sense – he had closed a lot of cases in his day. And having him in prison couldn't possibly be good for the reputation of the CBI. Nonetheless, he _was_ surprised.

"This was Hightower's idea," Jane guessed.

Hesitation from the lawyer. The flash of uncertainty intrigued Jane. He sat up, studying the man closely.

"Hmmm... So, it wasn't Hightower's idea, then. Who else? Rigsby?" Jane dismissed the idea out of hand. "The big galoot's loyal enough, but he doesn't have the pull necessary for something like this."

"It doesn't matter whose idea it was."

"Yes, it does," Jane replied quickly. "Of course it matters." He hesitated, almost afraid to say the words aloud. "It was Lisbon, wasn't it? After she heard of the stabbing, sat by my bedside…" he thought of her – sitting here, waiting for him to awaken. Yet another of Lisbon's lost causes; another errant man in need of salvation.

"I'm not moving unless you tell me," Jane said. He wasn't certain he would move regardless, but obviously he didn't tell Overton that. "I'll stay here, return to general population. Likely be killed before the trial ever takes place."

He felt an unsettling sense of peace at the thought.

Overton's dark eyes flickered as he weighed his options.

"So… It was Lisbon, yes?"

Finally, the lawyer nodded. "She's agreed to keep the team as it was – though you'll obviously have stricter parameters."

"Yes, obviously. A lojack and Lisbon on high alert – I expect my parameters will be strict indeed," he mused. And then: "She really wants me back? Wants me under her purview, after everything?"

The lawyer's gaze slid from his. "She believes it would be the best for everyone involved."

"Well, now you're just lying," Jane said. "She may think it best for me… Perhaps she's even convinced herself that it would be best for the team. But she doesn't think it would be best for her."

"We didn't discuss that," Overton said brusquely. "It's not my concern."

No, of course not. As far as Jane could tell, Lisbon's well-being was almost no one's concern. Including his own, historically speaking.

Jane scratched his head, considering this. He had an unexpected lifeline, a way back to the CBI, which had – completely against his will – begun to feel disturbingly like family. What would that mean to Lisbon, though? He had already wormed his way back into the good graces of Rigsby and Van Pelt. Hightower seemed to bear him no ill will, from what he had seen. Cho would be terse at first, but Jane had no doubt he could handle Cho.

"I want to speak to Lisbon," he finally decided. "I want to look her in the eye, and learn firsthand her feelings in all this."

"That's not possible," Overton said – also resolute. So, this condition of Jane's had already been anticipated. "You'll wait until you've been discharged from the infirmary, and then someone from the CBI will pick you up and take you to your apartment. You do have an apartment?"

"Of course." A lie.

One Overton caught, as it happened – Jane could tell by the look in his eye. "You'll need an apartment. When you aren't working, a guard will be posted at your door, and you will be electrically monitored during those times. Bail will be revoked if they learn you're repeating previous patterns. They want to know you are devoted to your work; that it has a stabilizing influence on your life."

"Eh," Jane waved off the diatribe. "Stabilize schmabilize – they want me to close cases again. Work my magic. I don't care about that – I'll do it. But not until Lisbon comes here."

After a few more minutes of back and forth, Overton finally agreed to make a phone call. Jane waited. There was a dangerous seed of hope springing forth, which he had hardly expected. When Jane had imagined killing Red John in the past – and he had imagined it, innumerable times – that moment had always been in Technicolor. He had never looked forward to it per se – it wasn't as though Patrick Jane was a man known for his bloodlust. But it was one duty from which he would not shy.

It was the moments after Red John lay dead that had always been foggy.

Jane had never expected redemption. It hadn't even occurred to him to hope for it. But now, despite everything he had done in his life, the lies he'd told, the fortunes he'd swindled… The family that lay dead, for his arrogance… Despite all of it, he found himself hoping for exactly that.

For a second chance.

Overton returned, serious but nevertheless obviously triumphant. "She'll meet you here tonight."

Jane made the nurse – a dour, unpleasant woman with hair cropped short and a thin, harsh nose – help him up so that he could change his clothes. Overton informed him that he would not be made to wear another orange jumpsuit – at least, not unless he was found guilty during his trial. After which point, orange could be his color for a very long time. For now, however, he reveled in the knowledge that it would not be long before he could don his three-piece costume once more.

He made Overton go buy him proper pajamas.

They weren't particularly good pajamas – basic cotton, nothing like what he was accustomed to. They were miles better than the stock prison garments he had been wearing, however.

He shaved, and washed and straightened his hair, which was getting longer than he liked. And then, he sat in the hospital bed with a sick feeling in his stomach, anxious as a teenage girl before the arrival of her prom date.

Or a convict, before his execution.

Lisbon arrived at precisely seven o'clock that evening. She wore jeans and one of her blazers, badge at her belt, though she had been divested of her sidearm before being allowed inside. A guard stood in the doorway, on alert.

Jane tried to summon some of his old confidence.

"Leave us, please."

The guard didn't budge.

"It's all right," Lisbon said with a nod. The guard stepped outside and closed the door.

Lisbon walked over and stood at his bedside, spine straight, shoulders squared. Her eyes had that veiled quality he had seen so many times before – usually when she was trying to remain in control, push her own emotions to the side.

"Thank you for seeing me," Jane said. He sounded curiously formal.

Lisbon sighed. "What's this about, Jane? Your lawyer already told you the deal – you're back in. Rigsby's gonna pick you up tomorrow, and we can all get back to work."

"I wanted to speak with you first," he said. He struggled to sit up. Lisbon watched him with narrowed eyes. She expected a trick, he realized. But then, why wouldn't she?

"So – I'm here. You got your wish. Talk."

Arms crossed over her chest, leaning to one side. She stopped short of tapping her foot with impatience, but just barely.

Jane tried to remember what he had planned to say.

The script vanished.

"You're certain you're all right with this arrangement?" he finally managed. Again, watching her closely. "Because if you're not, it's all right. I get it. I'll simply stay here and await my trial."

Her lips thinned, brow furrowed. It was an improvement - some reaction, at least. He hated it when he couldn't get a reaction from Lisbon.

"Come on then," he coaxed, against his better judgment. "Say what's on your mind. Let me have it. 'Dammit, Jane, you could have been killed. What were you thinking?'" he mimicked her voice, attempting levity. " 'Red John – '"

"Don't," she said sharply. For the first time, he saw the fire behind the ice. "Don't make jokes. Don't charm me, dammit. This is the way it's gonna work: you're gonna get out of here, before you get killed. You'll come back to work. Move into a real apartment, instead of sleeping in the CBI attic like some lunatic. You'll help us close cases. You'll see a court-appointed therapist – "

He started to protest, but shut his mouth at the look in her eye.

"And you'll be ready to face judge and jury when the time comes. This time at the CBI, you _will_ be accountable to someone besides yourself – you're not just some consultant anymore, separate but equal. You'll answer to Hightower, the same way I do. And if you pull any crap, you land right back here. And next time, nobody will come for you."

"I didn't expect anyone to come this time," he said. She stopped for a moment at that, uncertain whether or not she should take him seriously.

She looked away. He studied the line of her neck, the graceful sweep of a tendril of dark hair at her ear.

"You'll come back to work, and we'll be colleagues – the same way we were." She returned her gaze to his, green eyes fixed on a spot just above his head.

"We used to be friends." A trace of vulnerability that he hadn't intended crept into his tone.

The flash of fire returned. "Friends? Screw you, Jane. You've got a funny way of showing it. You manipulated, you rebelled, you flouted the rules, lied to me – "

"When?" he interrupted.

She stopped short. "When what?"

"I'll admit to the rest – the manipulation, the rebellion, the 'flouting,'" he quirked his fingers in an air quote, "of the rules. But when did I lie to you?"

Her jaw hardened. Her hair was down, though shorter than it had been when he'd seen her last. He had been right all that time ago – she did look good with shorter hair. She looked away from him.

"You killed him, Jane." The words came out softer, far more vulnerable than he knew she wanted. There was a hint of the rasp that he loved in her voice.

"I never lied about that - I told you from the day we met what my plans were where Red John was concerned. It's not my fault if you chose not to believe me." Against his better judgment, he touched her hand.

"Lisbon, look at me."

Her eyes were swimming when she did, her entire body taut. She tensed even further at his touch, on the brink of fight or flight.

"I'm sorry that you got caught in the crossfire. I'm sorry if I hurt you – "

"You didn't hurt me, you egotistical son of a bitch." She practically hissed the words, withdrawing her hand. The tears vanished before they ever fell. "You tore my team to pieces, that's what you did. I'm here because no matter how I feel about you, you don't deserve to die in here. And this was the only way I could keep that from happening. We're not friends, Jane. I don't care what you do with the rest of the team – in fact, I'm glad you're working on mending those bridges, because they need it. They need to think they were more than just pawns in your endgame to get to Red John – "

"And what do you need, Lisbon?" he interrupted. "You're so concerned with everyone else, but we were the closest. I considered – consider," he amended, "you a friend. You may not believe that, but I'll do everything in my power to renew your faith in our bond."

His heartfelt monologue was met with another weary Lisbon sigh. When she met his eye this time, she just looked tired.

"Just come back to work, Jane. Don't make this about anything else. Come do your job. Get a life."

"Oh, you're one to talk."

"I have a life," she said. They were on the brink of settling into the rhythm of their old banter, just like that. Lisbon realized it and caught herself before it continued. Her mouth snapped shut, and she lowered her eyes.

"I've gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes, of course," Jane agreed. "Tomorrow, then. Thank you for seeing me."

She shrugged. "It's not like I had a choice, Jane. I almost never do, with you."

She walked out, before Jane could pursue that enigmatic statement any further.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

His first week back at the CBI, Jane was good as gold. They cleared an unprecedented three cases in those first few days, and Jane successfully restrained himself enough to ensure that not a single lawsuit was filed, nor complaint lodged, by the close of the week.

He had yet to find an apartment, instead receiving permission to set up camp temporarily at a local hotel. The guard charged to keep watch over him in the evening – Brad, an anemic-looking older gentleman with a slight overbite and a surprising gift for prose – was stationed in the hotel lobby. Nights, Jane would return home and sit patiently while Brad refastened the lojack 'round his leg, and then wait just as patiently in the morning as the old man removed it. Rigsby, Van Pelt, and Cho took turns picking Jane up and dropping him off; he was only allowed to drive during work hours, and only when accompanied by another member of the CBI. Lisbon did not pick him up, and she did not drop him off.

Lisbon barely spoke to him.

She had yet to meet Brad, or visit Jane's hotel room, or even comment on the single, Red Delicious apple Jane had taken to leaving on her desk each and every morning since his return.

_("We don't have time to stop for a freaking apple, Jane – we're already late," Van Pelt told him on the way into work on his fourth day back. She was out of sorts because she had clearly slept late and her hair was doing something she quite obviously hadn't meant for it to do, though she hadn't said so and of course Jane was too smart to comment. "She'll just throw it out, anyway. Give it up. She just needs time.")_

He agreed, in principle, that Lisbon probably did need time. But he'd never been a very patient man, and the replacement of their old banter with stung glances and tension-laden silences did not suit him.

Thus, the apple a day.

Mid-morning on Friday, Jane convinced Rigsby to let him drive on the way back from an impromptu interview with a widow whom Jane suspected was probably also a murderer. Once they were back in Sacramento, the agent looked up with clear alarm when Jane sailed past their exit.

"Hey – Jane, that was us. Everybody's waiting – "

"We'll only be a moment. I need to pick up the key for my new place, sign a couple of papers."

Rigsby turned toward him, concern replaced with curiosity. They were in one of the SUVs the CBI was so fond of – hardly Jane's favorite vehicle, but the speed and the feel of the open highway were doing wonders for his spirits.

"Since when do you have an apartment?"

"Since this morning," Jane said. "One of the gentlemen in my cell block told me about it – it just took a few days for everything to, uh… Clear. Some of his business acquaintances had been using it."

"Using it for what?"

He waved his hand vaguely. "Oh – you know. This and that. You know criminals. But I got it for a song."

The apartment was exactly what Jane had pictured: a third-story loft overlooking the Sacramento waterfront, in one of its less-than-revitalized districts. A few of the floor-to-ceiling windows were broken, cigarette butts and used condoms scattered in dark corners throughout. Yes – this would do quite well. Jane paced the floor, bouncing experimentally on the wooden floorboards, avoiding shards of glass and a perfect circle of what he suspected was dried blood at the center of the vast central room.

"It has character, wouldn't you say?" he asked Rigsby.

Rigsby stood in the doorway, skepticism clear in his eyes. "I don't know if that's what you'd call it. Listen, Jane, I hate to rain on your parade, but I don't think anybody in their right mind's gonna clear you to live here. I mean – don't you need to have a guard here?"

He waved off the notion as he turned to take another spin around the place. "Nonsense, Brad will love it. There's a nice little coffee shop just down the way there. He can keep tabs on me and work on his novel at the same time."

"Brad?"

"My guard. He's a very personable gentleman, actually. I've already discussed it with him – apparently, as long as he's able to set up a station in the immediate vicinity, there shouldn't be a problem."

"It's gonna cost a ton to fix this place up to where it'll even be livable. You sure you've got that kind of money? I mean – doesn't the government freeze everything 'til your trial's over?"

"Only what they know about," he said dismissively. He went to one of the broken windows to gaze out over the harbor, noting that while the interior was nothing short of a disaster, that didn't change the fact that the view was breathtaking. "I'm more of a cash-in the-mattress kind of guy – you know how it is. Comes in handy in situations like these. Anyway, it hardly matters."

"Yeah, I bet." He turned to find Rigsby making his way cautiously into the apartment. "Why's that, exactly?"

"Because we're going to do the renovations ourselves."

The agent looked as if Jane had just suggested something indecent. Or at the very least highly absurd.

"We who?"

Jane nodded. "_We_ – you and me. Cho. Lisbon. I'll ask Grace to decorate – she'll be thrilled."

Now that the project was in front of him, he was starting to feel… expansive, again. Hopeful, even. The brick walls were in fine shape, the structure seemed quite solid, and a place like this would get massive amounts of sunlight. Jane liked sunlight.

"Have you ever done anything like this?" Rigsby pressed. "No offense, man, but you don't really seem like a heavy lifting kind of guy."

"No, you're right – I haven't been, in the past. But… Perhaps it's time for a change. Oh, come on – it'll be fun."

Rigsby still looked undecided. Jane paused, captivated momentarily by the sight of an Asian woman and her small daughter walking along the sidewalk below. When he turned around, he decided it was time to play his wild card and do the last thing Rigsby would ever expect of him.

He told the truth.

"What else am I supposed to do, exactly? I'm under house arrest – you really expect me to sit in a little studio apartment playing Solitaire on my off-hours?" He avoided Rigsby's eye, unaccountably uneasy to be laid so bare. "I can't sleep. I'm not allowed to surf the 'net, and most of what's on there is just depressing, anyway. With a few exceptions, I loathe television. So, tell me… What else would you have me do?"

The agent looked uncomfortable for a moment, glancing around the room with a bit more interest now that Jane had given him this new perspective. It didn't take long before Jane knew that he was on board – something that was confirmed when Rigsby began surveying the décor with a more speculative eye.

"It does have good bones. And Grace would go nuts decorating a place like this," he finally conceded.

Jane grinned. He had his first ally.

It was shortly after eleven o'clock when Jane and Rigsby returned to the office. Van Pelt and Cho were doing paperwork; they barely looked up when Jane came in. Though he and Cho hadn't had any outright words since his return, Jane could sense that the agent was still not completely on board with the supposed new leaf he had turned. He glanced up from his files.

"Lisbon wants to see you. They've been waiting a while."

Jane glanced through the window and winced at the sight of Hightower and LaRoche, both seated with their backs to him, waiting. Lisbon looked like she had one of those tension headaches she was forever getting.

"Good Lord, haven't we had enough meetings this week? I'll go in a moment."

Cho shrugged and returned to his paperwork. "It's your funeral."

Jane lingered a moment longer. And another moment. And another. Finally, Cho sighed and looked up once more.

"Did you need something?"

"How are you with a sledgehammer?"

After a week of all-business, Jane was rewarded with the faintest of faint Cho smiles.

"I'm guessing that's not a rhetorical question."

"You guess correctly. My apartment could use some work – Rigsby has agreed to assist. I'll supply the food and the entertainment, if you and Grace will help us out."

Grace looked up, clearly intrigued. "You got an apartment?"

Rigsby snickered. "You remember that crack den over on Tolman last year?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Ew – seriously? I thought that place was condemned."

"Well," Rigsby amended, "It's not _actually_ the Tolman place. But it might as well be."

"Grace, I'd like you to do the decorating," Jane said, ignoring Rigsby's sour grapes. "Since you have such a good eye, I'm sure you'll do a splendid job."

There was the faintest hint of distrust on her face, which transformed in short order to cautious enthusiasm. Jane was pleased – though Van Pelt was obviously doing better than she had been when she'd first visited him in the infirmary, he'd missed her usual, youthful exuberance.

"So," he returned to Cho. Lisbon was beckoning to him through the window. He held up his hand, indicating he would be there in a moment. "Do you have plans this weekend?"

"Yep," he said, without bothering to look up from his work this time.

Jane waited for a more elaborate excuse, unsurprised when he received none. "Whatever those plans may be, I'm sure you'll be able to spare a few hours." Before Cho could object, he smoothly swiped the agent's phone from his desk, and hit the first number on speed dial. Sure enough, Cho's girlfriend Elise picked up after a couple of rings.

"Hey, baby," Elise answered.

Jane smiled, holding Cho off as the shorter man tried in vain to reach for the phone. "Hello, dear."

There was a second of silence on the phone. "Uh – I'm sorry," the woman stumbled. "Who is this?"

"No worry – it's a very nice way to answer the phone. This is Patrick Jane, from the CBI. I have Kimball here and he just wanted to know if you'd be all right with sacrificing your plans over the weekend to come to a renovation party at my new apartment. Good music, good food, good friends…"

Cho was bent on killing him, he could tell, and Lisbon looked borderline apoplectic in the next room. Elise, however, was charmed with the idea.

"We would have just ended up laying around the apartment all weekend, anyway – that sounds great. Let Kimball know if we should bring anything."

"Lovely."

He hung up and handed the phone to Cho. Rigsby and Van Pelt were standing back, waiting to see what might happen next, as it didn't seem their fellow agent was taking quite so kindly to Jane's return to good humor.

Before Cho could say a word, however, Lisbon was at her door.

"Jane, in my office – _Now._"

Jane felt the faintest twinge of anxiety as he obediently slunk into Lisbon's lair, mentally recapping his actions over the past week. Apart from the minor act of rebellion with Cho's phone a moment ago, he had been flawless. So, why the sour look on Lisbon's face, clearly suggesting that he was back to his old ways?

He put on his best, fresh-leaf, contrite-but-serious Jane face, and closed the door behind him.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked.

She nodded toward a chair. "Have a seat."

"Uh – if it's all right with you, I'd prefer to stand."

"It's not," she said shortly.

Jane sat.

Hightower stood. "Patrick, you know that when we agreed that you should return to the CBI until your trial, there were certain conditions…"

He nodded, doing his best to remain cool and collected. "I do. And I've followed them all, to the letter."

Now, LaRoche joined the women, all three of them now in front of Lisbon's desk, glowering at him.

What in Moses had he done?

"You know that you are not to investigate anything having to do with Red John, while your case is still pending," LaRoche said. His beady little eyes flicked back and forth, searching Jane's face. For once, there wasn't a thing for him to find.

"I do," Jane confirmed.

"And you are aware that contacting any member of his family is strictly prohibited," LaRoche continued.

Jane straightened in his chair, his forehead suddenly creased, the concern clear in his eyes. "Yeah, I know that – I know the rules. I'm playing by them. If someone's telling you differently, they're lying."

Lisbon nodded. "You see – I told you," she said, directing her words at LaRoche. "Jane's been the perfect consultant this week. He's being monitored closely. Whatever this woman says he did – "

Jane looked up sharply. "What woman?"

LaRoche glanced at a file in his hands. "An Ellie Jennings." Jane's stomach dropped at the name, flashing back instantly to the inmate's words back at the prison, just before he'd been stabbed. "She claims she knew the deceased, and you've been threatening her unless she tells you more about your family's murder."

He sat forward in his chair. Scrubbed his face for a moment with his hands, trying to determine how best to proceed. Lisbon was watching him closely, he knew; the others were too, of course, but they couldn't read him the way Lisbon could.

"I don't know any Ellie Jennings. I swear to you – I don't know of any connection between Red John and a woman by that name."

"She's probably just some whack job who gets off on serial killers," Lisbon said, directing the words at LaRoche and Hightower now. "Maybe she's pissed off because Jane killed Red John."

Jane nodded, still too struck to form a cogent defense.

"We had to look into it, Patrick," Hightower said. She rested a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. "We've been watching you this week – everyone knows you're doing your best to stay straight. I'll look into this a little further, just to set everybody's mind at ease, but don't worry too much."

LaRoche didn't look nearly so assuaged. "If she makes another complaint, there could be trouble," he said.

Jane pressed his lips into a thin line, considering this. "I know. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But I stand by my earlier statement – I've never met any Ellie Jennings. I don't know what her connection to me or to Red John could be."

He remained seated as Hightower and LaRoche made for the door. LaRoche was halfway out when Jane regained his composure enough to call after him.

"You've done some carpentry work before, haven't you?"

LaRoche shut the door again, turning to stare at him. "Excuse me?"

"Carpentry – you know, building things. Hammer and nails, saws and planes."

"Yes – I'm familiar with the concept, thank you. I just didn't know how you – " He frowned, giving up on the question before it was even posed. "I have done some carpentry, in my youth."

"Good," Jane nodded approvingly. "That'll come in handy. You still have your own tools?"

"Of course, but I don't – "

"I'm having a renovation party this weekend, at my new apartment," Jane interrupted. He nodded toward Madeleine. "You can bring your kids if you'd like – the more the merrier. Lisbon, I suspect you know your way around a paintbrush, yeah?"

All three supervisors gazed at him as if he'd gone mad.

"You want us to come renovate your apartment this weekend?"

He nodded vigorously. "I do. I mean – I'll help, of course. It'll be like those barn raisings they have in Pennsylvania Dutch country. A real teambuilding experience."

The last words had the desired effect, at least on Hightower. She flinched, but could hardly refuse something that was ostensibly designed to bring her team closer together.

"Right. How can I say no to that?" she said dryly.

Jane grinned, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. He pushed the thought of Ellie Jennings far to the back of his mind.

"Splendid – then it's a plan. I'll see you all this weekend."

Before he could escape after Hightower and LaRoche, Lisbon called after him. Since he was a good boy now, Jane turned around and dutifully returned to his seat. Lisbon didn't say a word until LaRoche and Hightower were around the corner and out of sight.

"You can't lie to me again," she said. "We're clear on that, right?"

He nodded, pushing aside a tiny pinprick of guilt. It was true – he didn't _know _any Ellie Jennings.

"I haven't looked into Red John since his death," Jane said. "I haven't even read any newspaper articles. I just want him out of my life now." It was the truth. He leaned forward slightly, trying to hold Lisbon's gaze. She was seated on the edge of her desk, looking unmistakably antsy now that it was just the two of them. "Lisbon, look at me."

He'd never met anyone who could load a simple glance with so much meaning. She tilted her head slightly, chin up, defiance clear in her eyes.

"What, Jane?"

"I know I'm going to need to earn your trust – I realize that. Just…" She waited, the faintest flicker of vulnerability touching her eyes before her mask fell once again. He sighed. "You will join us this weekend, won't you? You'll have fun – I promise."

She shook her head. "I have plans, sorry. You guys have a good time, though."

He stood and tried to disguise his disappointment, surprised at just how deeply it cut. "Well, if you change your mind… I'll leave the address for you."

She shrugged, returning her attention to a file she held. "Whatever."

"Right. Whatever. Was there anything else?"

Another shake of her head, her eyes still failing to meet his. Jane grimaced. In the Lisbon universe, he knew that he'd betrayed her on a much deeper level than even she was willing to admit, but her shapely little cold shoulder was getting damned grating.

He was nearly out the door when she called after him. "Jane?"

He turned. "Yes?"

She hesitated. "I don't know if I can make it, but… You should leave the address. I'll try."

His annoyance was forgotten in an instant. He smiled brilliantly, his eyes sparking on hers.

"Excellent. You'll have fun."

"I didn't say I'd _be_ there – "

"No, you didn't," he shook his head, attempting to appear contrite. "That's right, I didn't mean to be presumptuous. But if you did decide to…It would be nice, if you were there."

Her eyes slid from his with a terse nod. "I should get back to this – all these closed cases mean a pile of paperwork."

"Yes – sorry, I guess that's the down side of doing things by the books. I'll see you later, then."

After he'd closed her door behind him, Jane stood still for a moment, taking stock. All thoughts of the weekend vanished in an instant. Ellie Jennings had lodged a complaint against him. What he'd said was true enough – he didn't know an Ellie Jennings, and he hadn't looked into Red John since the man's death at his hand. But this woman, whomever she might be, was clearly baiting him. What had Lisbon said? That Ellie claimed he'd threatened her, unless she told him more about his family's murder.

Knowing full well that by making such an allegation, Jane would have no choice but to begin to question that.

What _did_ Ellie Jennings know about his family's murder? Had he gotten it wrong? Was the man he'd gunned down two months ago not, in actuality, Red John at all? No – she hadn't said that. Jane had heard Ellie Jennings' name twice now, but in neither of those conversations had there been any intimation that he had killed an innocent man.

So, what did she know about the slaying of Jane's wife and daughter?

"Jane – I've got some paint swatches we should check out."

He looked up, startled out of his reverie at the sight of Van Pelt bearing down on him with a hefty three-ring binder.

"Are you all right?" she asked, once she'd gotten closer.

He realized that his palms were sweating, the faintest hint of a tremor in his hands. He smoothed them down the front of his pants, drew himself up taller, and pushed any thought of Red John and Ellie Jennings far from his mind.

"Fine," he said brightly. "Just thinking about everything we'll need to get done over the weekend."

Van Pelt smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm now. "Wayne told me about the space – I think it sounds exciting. And I have some ideas for what we can do."

Jane took a deep breath. His hand at Van Pelt's elbow, he steered her toward his sofa.

"I knew you would. Excellent. I'd love to hear them."

The two returned to Jane's couch, where Rigsby was waiting with an amused grin, seated on the arm at the far end while Grace showed them both a dozen paint swatches and fabric samples and flyers from nearly every furniture store in the city.

It would be a good weekend, for everyone – Jane would see to it. He was on a good track now, trying with everything he had to follow the rules in the hopes that he could finally find some semblance of peace. Red John had already taken everything from Jane once; he wouldn't let some deranged fan of the serial killer destroy what little he had left, by taunting him into some wild goose chase for information that probably didn't even exist.

He was going to renovate his new apartment. Paint, sand, pick out furniture, lay down flooring. He was going to build a new life for himself.

Unfortunately, Ellie Jennings had other plans for his weekend.

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

Jane hadn't anticipated renovation being so… tedious. He'd had romantic notions of losing himself in the physical labor, toiling for hours over roughened floorboards, breathing in the heady scent of sawdust and perspiration. He lasted barely an hour, however, before he was aching to quit.

"Perhaps I should make a food run," he suggested to Rigsby, at shortly after 10am on Saturday morning.

Rigsby was a natural at this sort of thing – he had already done more in an hour than Jane expected he personally could accomplish in a day. The agent looked up, his brow – and shirt – damp with sweat.

"I could eat."

"There's a shock," Cho said. Cho and Elise were stripping paint from one of the few non-brick walls. Elise was fastidious, Cho no less so, and Jane was pleased to note that they were clearly enjoying themselves.

"Someone give me their keys – I won't be long," Jane said. He looked to Brad, who was seated on the floor in the corner, writing madly in a spiral notebook.

"You'll need to, uh…" Jane gestured to his leg.

Brad merely shook his head. "You know the rules. The lojack comes off for work. This isn't work."

Jane frowned. "Oh, come on… It's work related."

"How's that?" Brad may not have looked terribly bright, but thus far he had proven surprisingly difficult to manipulate.

"All right – it might not be work," Jane conceded. "But everyone from work is here…"

"No dice, champ."

The guard returned to his notebook without further comment. Jane felt the slightest jolt of panic – a by-now-familiar sense of claustrophobia that he was not enjoying, particularly given how frequently it had been making an appearance. He looked around.

"What if I went with someone?"

Brad looked up once more, considering the proposal. "Who?"

The consultant scanned the room. Everyone else was hard at work, but Van Pelt was looking through catalogs, seated on an old plastic milk crate by a broken window.

"Grace has to pick out furniture. I'll go with her."

She looked alarmed. "What? Wait a minute – I thought I was in charge of the furniture. You said you trusted my judgment."

"Eh – well, I lied," he said quickly. "C'mon, Bradley… I can't just send someone off to furnish my entire apartment without me. And she's an agent. Highly skilled, highly trained, et cetera, et cetera."

Brad stood and stretched his back. Though in his mid-fifties, the man retained a certain youthful air that Jane attributed to an artist's sensibility – regardless of his vocation.

"You'll bring me back a chair?"

"The very best that money can buy," Jane promised.

Brad took out his keys. Jane rubbed his hands together, an eye on the bright blue sky just outside his broken windows. Freedom truly was a blessed thing.

It was a gorgeous day in Sacramento. The moment they were in the car (Grace at the wheel, of course), Jane thought of half a dozen places he would love to be.

"Furniture shopping, Jane," Van Pelt threatened. "That's it."

"And we promised to pick up something to eat," he reminded her.

"Okay, yeah. Food and furniture."

"It's a lovely a day for a walk on the beach."

"No."

"We could fly a kite."

"No."

"Ride the rails?"

No response this time. Van Pelt's mouth tightened into a thin line.

"Concert in the park? The zoo would be lovely this time of year – you could feed the bears."

"You're not supposed to feed the bears."

"Meh – arbitrary rules meant to keep the mindless masses in line. What about parasailing? Surfing? A trip up the coast?"

By this time, she was doing her best not to laugh. After a moment, she put on her sternest face and turned toward him.

"Please don't get me in trouble. We're going furniture shopping, and we're picking up food. That's it."

He sighed. Shut his mouth, and contented himself with the windows rolled down and the wind through his hair. He fiddled with the radio.

"Did Lisbon mention when she might be dropping by this weekend?" He tried to make the question sound casual – as though he wasn't the slightest bit interested in the response. He fell considerably short of that, however.

Grace took her eyes off the road for only a moment, her hands remaining at the ten and two positions on the wheel.

"She told you she was coming?" she asked.

"She said she would try."

"Well… Then, I guess she'll come whenever she finds time. _If _she finds time."

Jane considered this. It was the conclusion he had come to, as well. The lack of specificity was troubling.

"She's pretty mad at you, you know." Another sideways glance.

Jane waved off the comment. "We're working through it. Lisbon knows I feel badly for the way things turned out."

He shifted in his seat, his eyes fixed on the horizon. They were in the center lane, but Van Pelt was going far more slowly than was strictly required. He hated it when he wasn't allowed to drive.

"She knows you feel bad," Van Pelt said. "That's not why she's mad, though."

Now, it was Jane's turn for a sideways glance. He caught a flicker of triumph as it crossed Van Pelt's face, and was simultaneously amused and slightly resentful that she had managed to elicit a response.

"She told you this? That she was angry with me?"

"Of course not – hello, have you _met _Lisbon? But I can tell."

"Ah, of course. I'd forgotten how perceptive you are at reading people."

It was a cruel thing to say, and Jane disliked himself immediately for stooping so low. Grace bit her lip, blinking back sudden tears.

"That was mean," she said, after several seconds of uncomfortable silence. "Craig fooled everyone."

"I know," Jane agreed. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that."

Silence fell for a bit longer. Traffic was backed up on I-80, and Jane wasn't sure exactly where Van Pelt was taking them. That claustrophobic feeling settled around him once more. It crossed his mind that, just perhaps, he should get used to it. He could be living this way for a very long time.

"She's mad because you don't ask about her arm."

Jane looked at Grace for a few seconds, puzzled. "Her…?"

"Her _arm. _Where she got shot. You don't ask about it, you never mention it, it's like you forgot it happened."

He had no response for that. Mainly because, in truth, he _had _forgotten. Or, at the very least it had slipped his mind.

"Do you want to know what Rachel and I decided about the whole thing?"

Rachel was the new CBI counselor – Jane had been assiduously avoiding her for a week now. Good lord. He should have chosen Cho for his driver.

"If I say no, would it make any possible difference?"

"Nope," Grace said smugly.

"Then I suppose you ought to tell me."

"Well," she began. She sat up straighter, more animated now that she was talking about something _she _wanted to talk about. "Even though a lot of times you can be kind of, you know…"

He looked at her expectantly.

"Um… Self involved," she said, glancing sideways to see if he'd taken offense. He had not. "You're still usually super-aware of everything that's going on with us. Especially Lisbon. But not this time. We think it's because you feel guilty."

Jane considered this. "For…?"

"For putting Lisbon in harm's way."

"You're the one who brought O'Laughlin to see someone in protective custody – "

"Hey," she said sharply. "Mean again. They determined that I didn't do anything wrong there. He had the necessary clearance."

"It still wasn't terribly smart."

She got quiet. "I know."

They rolled along at a snail's pace. More silence. Finally, Jane relented.

"So, why should I feel guilty?"

Grace looked at him, clearly pleased once more that she'd managed to engage him in the conversation. "Because you're you – and you _always _feel guilty. But this time, it's too much to handle. You got scared when Lisbon got shot. You feel guilty because you think you made it happen. And you've got too many things you've felt scared and guilty about, so you just… Pretend it didn't happen."

"You don't think you're giving me too much credit?" he asked, affecting a lightness that he didn't feel. "Maybe it's just that I really am a self-involved, broken son of a bitch, who doesn't care about anyone but himself and the ghosts in his head."

He kept his gaze steady out the window. In the next lane, a minivan with a little girl in a car seat rolled up beside them. She waved at him. He lay his head back against his seat and tried to look away, but he couldn't bring himself not to wave back.

He wished to be alone, suddenly. Back in his cell, maybe. Or back in Malibu, on that twin mattress in the home that he knew with the ghosts that he loved. Grace put her hand on his arm.

"I don't think that's it at all," she said.

He wished he could believe her.

Over the course of the next few hours, Jane and Van Pelt outfitted his apartment with enough furnishings that it would seem like a home (Van Pelt's words), but not so much that he would completely burn through his store of cash. Living room set, kitchen appliances, bathroom fixtures. When it came time to pick out a new bed, Jane paused beside a twin mattress with a simple wood frame. Grace just stared at him.

"Jane," she said, with a long-suffering sigh. He was getting used to that tone.

"This will do fine – I don't sleep that much, anyway."

"Well, fine. But _someday, _you might want to do something other than, you know… Sleep." She turned very pink. "And you'll want a bigger bed, when that day comes."

"Will I?" he gave her his most flirtatious smile, delighting when she blushed further. "And I suppose you have some ideas as to with whom I'll want to _not _sleep, when that as-yet-undetermined future date arrives?"

She looked him square in the eye. "I have somebody in mind, as a matter of fact. Anyway, Jane, you're supposed to look like you're getting on with your life. Like you're… normal."

He dismissed the thought. "Normal is boring. Who wants to be normal?"

"Just let me pick out a bed for you," she pleaded. If Jane had had a sister, he believed this would be very much what it would be like. It was a bit tiresome, really.

"I don't need anything huge, or ostentatious."

"Fine." She was getting that look she typically got when she'd won an argument.

Really, Van Pelt was becoming impossible.

In Malibu, Jane and Angela had had a California king with a down comforter and a canopy… Charlotte would wake them on Saturday mornings, and the three of them would curl up together, giggling and telling stories.

"Just a double," he repeated.

Van Pelt agreed.

It was nearly three o'clock by the time they returned to the apartment. Jane could hear Motown plying loudly through his oversized steel apartment door. He found himself surprisingly nervous, going in; for the past hour, he'd been wondering whether or not Lisbon had made it after all, or if she truly had given up on him.

The place was hopping, once he and Van Pelt finally did go inside. Hightower had come with her children, who were being tutored on the fine art of paint removal by Rigsby. LaRoche had also arrived. He wore overalls and a painting cap, a tool belt around his ample middle, his face serious as ever as he focused his energy on rebuilding a large, inbuilt wooden storage unit against the south wall. Cho and Elise were covered in paint from head to foot, seated on the floor eating their lunch.

LaRoche turned down the music as soon as he spotted Jane.

"So glad you could join us, Patrick," he said dryly. "I would hate for you to take time out of your busy schedule to help with renovations for _your _apartment."

Typically, Jane would have had a smart comment at the ready, but this time he found himself honestly dumbfounded. The debris had been removed from the floors, one entire wall had been scraped of paint, and the place already was beginning to resemble an apartment. Loosely, but still…

"You'll need someone to come in and take care of the windows," LaRoche informed him.

"And you're gonna need a plumber," Rigsby added. He had known both of these things, of course. The windows were a mess, and the facilities, such as they were, consisted of a cracked toilet behind a partition wall and a large utility sink.

"Of course," Jane said.

"And an electrician," Cho added.

Good lord.

"My brother is a contractor," LaRoche said unexpectedly. "I'll ask him who he recommends."

"That would be nice." Jane felt thoroughly out of his element now. He'd owned a home before, of course, but he had never been the kind of homeowner who spent Saturdays cleaning gutters or fixing leaky pipes. There was always money to put into whatever catastrophes might arise. And Angela had always handled the details.

Jane wasn't good with details.

"They'll deliver the furniture on Monday," he said. "So, we have another day or so to finish this up."

Everyone in the room stared at him as if he'd gone mad.

"You can't bring furniture in yet – the floors need to be redone," Rigsby explained.

"Everything needs to be redone," Cho said. "You're screwed."

"Nonsense." Jane shrugged. "We'll do what we can… Whatever doesn't get done before the furniture's here, I'll work around. Simple."

"Yeah, right," Hightower scoffed. "Because home renovations are _always _simple. Jane, you know you're gonna need to stay at the hotel at least another couple of months, right? There's no way you can live here. This is a huge project you've taken on. I'll talk to the judge, let him know what's going on."

He shook his head. "No, I'll be fine here. I have the things I need – toilet, running water… That little refrigerator that Rigsby so generously brought by. This is good."

The implication that he truly had lost his mind remained in the air, however Jane was pleased to note that no one argued with him. It would have made no difference; his decision had been made. He was moving on with his life. Creating a home for himself, such as it was. And he had no intention of spending another night pacing like a caged animal inside a tiny hotel room.

If he couldn't return to Malibu, and he couldn't simply… cease to exist (which still sounded alarmingly tempting), then this was the next best thing. Here, at least there was room to pace the hours away 'til dawn.

The others were right, of course. By Sunday evening, the place looked more a disaster than it had when they'd started. Everyone had done an amazing job – it was at least clean now, all the glass and debris removed from the floor, more scraping done and a few potted plants that Hightower had brought over safely installed on the shelves of the wall unit LaRoche had repaired. He'd put plastic over the windows until they could be replaced, and had set up one corner of the vast, empty space with a foam mattress, blankets, pillows, and a table lamp.

Rigsby and Van Pelt were the last ones to leave on Sunday. It wasn't even three o'clock, but apparently they had tickets to some sporting event or other. He could tell they both were convinced they were abandoning him to some horrible fate.

"I'll be fine," he told them for at least the tenth time, standing at his front door.

Grace looked skeptical. "You can call if you need anything."

"I know."

"I could stay over with you," Rigsby offered. Jane was touched; he wondered just how horrified the poor man would be if he took him up on that offer.

"There's no need – honestly, I'm a grown man. And I'll have my guardian angel just downstairs."

Brad was installed in the one piece of furniture Jane had procured the day before – a deluxe Lazy Boy recliner with cup holder and massage features. The guard raised his hand in acknowledgment, but continued reading without looking up.

Rigsby nodded. "All right. If you're sure."

Jane had a sudden memory of leaving for a sleepover with his father when he was a small boy. His mother had behaved in much the same way that Rigsby and Van Pelt were behaving now.

"All right then," Jane said. He ushered them out the door. "I'll see you in the morning. Drive safely."

Grace stopped just before he closed the door. She waited until Rigsby was already down the hall, out of hearing range, before she spoke.

"I'm sorry Lisbon couldn't make it."

He shrugged, feigning indifference that he only wished was genuine. "Another time. I'm sure she was busy."

Van Pelt didn't look convinced, but she mercifully let the matter drop. After a kiss on the cheek and one last concerned look at him, she finally left. Brad excused himself a moment later, retiring to the studio apartment they had secured for him on the floor below.

Jane was alone.

The problem, as he saw it, was that Jane wasn't that good at being alone.

Particularly with nothing to do.

He had never realized just how many of his waking hours had been consumed with plotting ways to hunt down Red John. Of its own volition, his mind wandered to Ellie Jennings – the mystery woman who apparently wanted him dead. Or, at the very least, wanted to taunt him to the edge of sanity. With no access to the internet and his every move being scrutinized, his ability to investigate the matter was seriously hampered.

He looked around surreptitiously, as though suspecting that someone might be lurking in wait for just this type of slip. Then, he went to the pile of three suitcases he'd brought with him, and selected the largest. It was quiet inside the apartment, just the sounds of traffic and the occasional shout from the street below to interrupt the stillness. He removed the clothing from the suitcase, and then unzipped the false bottom (he'd stopped buying anything that lacked secret compartments years before – he did so enjoy secret compartments), to produce a stack of printouts and a manila file folder.

Information on every Ellie Jennings who had lived or died in California in the past fifty years.

He sat on his foam mattress, and stared at the papers. A twinge of excitement went through him, the faintest flash of color in an otherwise oh-so-grey world.

"_You're compulsive, you know. An addict." _

"_I am not. I'm enthusiastic." _

_Angela sat at the edge of their bed, frowning out the window at a landscape so lovely that Jane still couldn't believe it was theirs, sometimes. _

"_Why can't you just be still? And Charlie's exactly the same way. You always have to be into something, stirring people up. The two of you are exhausting, sometimes."_

"That was mean," Jane said aloud. Echoing the words he'd said to her in the bedroom that day, a decade ago.

He _was _exhausting. He knew that. Even he was exhausted.

He gathered the paperwork together and put it back inside his secret compartment. Zipped it up, and folded his clothing neatly on top once more. Put the suitcase back with the others.

It was barely five o'clock. Normally, he would go out for a walk about now – stroll the beaches barefoot, soak in the atmosphere, lose himself in the energy of a thousand people outside himself.

Since that wasn't an option, he took a walk around his apartment. There were certainly enough projects to keep him busy, if he had a mind to try. LaRoche had given him instructions on how to begin cleaning and restoring the brick work along the walls, and so Jane prepared a bucket of soap and water. He tuned the portable radio that Cho and Elise had left for him to a classical station, and set to work.

By six-thirty, he had made some good progress, and was actually starting to enjoy himself. He took a break, noting that his t-shirt was damp and he must be smelling quite ripe – though he, of course, had no way of knowing this for sure. Still, it stood to reason. He stripped down to his boxers, cursing the bracelet 'round his ankle as he waited for the utility sink to fill with warm water.

He'd just washed his hair and managed to improvise a fairly good sponge bath when there was a knock on his door.

Brad had taken to checking on him periodically, occasionally stopping for a game of chess before he returned to his quarters in the evenings. Jane towel dried his hair quickly and pulled on a pair of jeans.

"You just can't stay away, can you?" he called out. He opened the door, barefoot and bare chested, dripping water.

Lisbon raised her eyebrows at him.

For the first time in a very long time, Jane found himself rendered speechless.

_TBC_


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

Lisbon carried a bag of groceries and her own hammer and tape measure, and if it hadn't been for the fact that she was clearly at least as uncomfortable as he was, Jane might have simply prayed to sink into the floorboards.

Lisbon's eyes widened at his state of undress.

"I – uh… I couldn't get away any sooner. But I thought maybe you could use some dinner. I tried to call," she added quickly.

"Oh – yes, sorry, I shut it off earlier. I forgot about it."

He stepped away from the door, feeling a little pink when he felt Lisbon's eyes on his chest.

"I'll just – " he nodded toward the makeshift bathroom. "I was just getting washed up."

Now that she'd recovered from the initial shock, Lisbon obviously found it amusing to catch him so off his guard. She smirked at him as he retreated.

"You don't say. I'll just put this stuff in the…"

She looked around the open space. "Do you have a kitchen?"

He waved toward the mini-refrigerator Rigsby had left.

"My appliances will be here tomorrow. I'm just using that, for now."

He retrieved a fresh sweater and pulled it on, making a brief effort at straightening his damp curls before he gave up. It was Lisbon, for heaven's sake.

"So, this is quite a place you've got here." She studied the high ceilings, the dingy brick walls, the broken windows.

"It's a work in progress."

"Clearly."

"What did you bring?" he asked, returning to the refrigerator. Lisbon had set the groceries on top and was now at the window, looking out over the bay.

"Hmm?"

"For dinner."

"Oh." She turned back toward him absently. "I picked up some Thai. Nice view."

Van Pelt had left him with a supply of paper plates and disposable utensils – he'd argued with her at the time, but now found himself grateful for her forethought. While he dished out noodles and curry, Lisbon continued to pace his apartment, taking in every detail. She wore jeans and sneakers, a sweatshirt in lieu of her usual blazer. Not that he was looking for it, he realized that she held herself differently since she'd been shot – more carefully, as though the slightest wrong move could be painful. Which, he suspected, it could.

At his insistence, Lisbon sat in his new, deluxe recliner during dinner, while Jane took the floor. He entertained her with tales of the weekend and they chatted idly about work for a while before he decided he'd had enough with pretenses.

"So, why don't you tell me the _real_ reason you're here, Lisbon?"

She got that look she sometimes did – a bit like she'd swallowed a frog, actually. "Huh? I told you – I would've gotten here earlier, but I had too much going on. I'm here to lend moral support."

"At seven o'clock on a Sunday night."

"Yes."

"Nonsense, woman. You can't hide these things from me – don't you know that by now? I don't know why you persist in trying. Now, spill. Why are you here?"

They went back and forth like that for a bit more before she finally relented. She sighed, rolling her big green eyes at him.

"Fine. I wanted to see you after everybody else was gone, away from Hightower and LaRoche and the rest of the team."

"To ask about Ellie Jennings," he guessed.

She nodded solemnly.

"I don't know an Ellie Jennings."

"Don't lie to me, Jane." There was an implicit threat in her words, but her face had taken on a hint of vulnerability that, for some reason, worried Jane far more than any violence she might inflict.

"I saw the look on your face when we said her name on Friday. Maybe I'm not a mind reader like you are, but I know you. Who is she?"

He hesitated, but relented when he caught her expression.

"I've only ever heard her name once before."

"When?"

He stood. Paced for a moment, coming to rest at the window. "The day I was stabbed, at the prison. The gentleman with the shank mentioned an Ellie – though he didn't give me a last name at the time. I suspect it was the same woman, however."

She was out of her chair in an instant. "Dammit, Jane. Are you freakin' kidding me? What else did he say?"

He turned to face her. She'd taken that stance that he suspected she had perfected very early in life, dealing with three renegade brothers on her own. The one that suggested he was an idiot and she was the only one capable of saving him from himself. It typically amused him, but he found it irksome tonight, for some reason.

"Don't be so dramatic. He said, 'Ellie says hi.' I told him I didn't know any Ellie, and he said something to the effect that Red John had had friends, and this Ellie person was apparently one of them. Then he stabbed me, so the rest of the conversation is a bit fuzzy."

"Jesus, Jane. And you didn't think that might be important?"

"Honestly? No. I figured it was just one more lunatic with a screw loose who'd taken offense that I had done away with the great Red John."

"But now?"

He shrugged. "Now, I think it may be something more. I suspect we'll find out soon enough."

She paced for a moment, considering this. "What else have you found out about her?"

He put on his most innocent face. "Me? Nothing."

"Yeah, right. I can look it up myself, or you can spill already."

"I'm under house arrest, Lisbon. No internet. Monitored every hour of every day, both at home and at work. When, exactly, do you think I would have time to do this research?"

She gave him her best Lisbon glare. "Fine. I'll just figure it out for myself. Thanks for nothing."

She started for the door, but Jane stopped her with a hand at her arm. The wrong arm, as it turned out. She winced and stepped out of his grasp.

"Sorry – I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's nothing."

"It's not nothing." The look on her face did not invite debate. "Look, I apologize. Just… Wait, just a minute. I did print some things off, but I haven't had an opportunity to look at them yet."

She looked skeptical, but at least she wasn't bolting out the door. He debated the wisdom of asking her to turn her back while he retrieved the paperwork from his secret stash, but decided that would be childish. And she probably wouldn't comply, anyway. Instead, Lisbon looked on with that little pissy edge to her eyes while he hauled out his files, feeling very silly as he did so. Damnable woman. She could even take the fun out of secret compartments.

They spent the next hour reading birth, death, and arrest records for every Ellie Jennings in a thousand-mile radius. Lisbon, clever woman that she was, had also brought her laptop 'round.

"I don't even know what we're supposed to be looking for," Lisbon complained.

It was eight-thirty. The apartment had minimal lighting – a couple of floor lamps, nothing more. It was difficult to see, and it was dark and it was a little bit creepy. Lacking any place better to do so, they had both settled on Jane's foam mattress while they read and scanned the web.

"It's not likely this woman's real name is Ellie Jennings," Jane agreed.

"Red John's past is the most likely place to find any information, but so far I haven't found anything."

He looked up suddenly. "What was his name?"

Lisbon looked at him, uncertain what he was asking. "Whose?"

"Red John. They told me not to look into it and I've obeyed that order, but… Do you know what his real name was?"

She looked uncomfortable for a moment. "They're having some trouble finding that out. The ID we found on him said John Alexander, but that man only seems to have existed for the past five years."

_I go by many names. _

That's what he'd said.

"So, until we find out who he was, I don't suspect we'll learn anything about who Ellie Jennings is," he said. He put the files away, feeling slightly ill suddenly.

Lisbon closed her laptop. They sat there for a moment in silence, a few inches apart but not touching. Lisbon didn't like to be touched. Not by him, at least. He didn't take offense to that – he understood the need for walls.

"I'm sorry this is happening," she said.

He nodded, and rose stiffly. He was getting too old to sleep on the floor, he realized. Too old for a lot of this, really.

He offered Lisbon his hand to help her up, and was surprised when she took it.

"It'll be good when you get some furniture in here."

"Yes."

He looked around the apartment, burying his hands deep in his pockets. That shadow had fallen again – the one that never failed to blot out the light.

"Do you need any help tonight? I mean… I could stick around a while longer. I missed out on all the heavy labor, but I could do something. You're cleaning up the brick work now, right?"

"Nah, don't be silly. It's late."

"It's not even nine o'clock. Come on. What, are you afraid I'm gonna show you up?"

"Yes," he said, with a roll of his eyes. He found it difficult to conceal a grin, however. "How did you guess?"

She went to the radio and turned it on once more, wrinkling her nose when Bach filled the room.

"This is what you work to?"

"Classical music is invigorating. Good for the mind and the spirit."

"Whatever." She crouched by the radio, turning the dials.

Something had shifted between them, and Jane couldn't deny how grateful he was for that shift. Whether it was the fact that he had – albeit reluctantly – agreed to confide in him, or simply the passage of time, it seemed that Lisbon had come to a decision. She wasn't giving up on him after all. At least, not yet.

She paused at rock n' roll – quite hideous rock n' roll, in his opinion – and straightened.

"Now this, we can work to."

He got a fresh bucket of soapy water. Lisbon was predictably intense about the job as soon as she got to work, while Jane preferred to take his time, stopping every few minutes or so to watch her. Unconsciously, she set her rhythm to whatever was playing on the radio – U2 at the moment, which Jane actually did like. She sang along, low and slightly off-key, and put a little sway in her hips when she thought he wasn't looking.

"You like to dance," he said. He'd known she danced, of course… Just not that she enjoyed it.

She immediately stopped moving, and turned a pretty shade of pink. "No."

"Yeah, you do." He grinned. "I bet your brothers were merciless with you about it, weren't they? They'd catch you, and you wouldn't hear the end of it for days."

"No." Clearly, he'd hit the nail on the head.

"We should go sometime."

She gave him her most suspicious pout. "Go where?"

"Dancing. There are some very nice places around here. I'm a good dancer – or so I've been told."

"I'm sure you are."

"No, I am. Come here." He moved toward her, and she took a step back so swiftly you would have thought he'd threatened her with physical violence. Or a pink taffeta bridesmaid's gown.

"I've danced with you before, Jane."

He took another step toward her. She continued to retreat, until her back was against the wall.

"One dance. You won't allow me one dance?"

He did a showy, intricate little step and finished with a flourish. "It'll be fun."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't know how to dance like that."

"That's all right – I wasn't planning on taking our act on the road right away. Come here."

He went to the radio, giving her a moment to pull herself together while he tried to find more suitable music. After a few seconds of searching, he settled on something with an appealing Latin beat. When he looked up, Lisbon was still standing with her back against the wall, though now her arms were crossed over her chest and she had affected her most superior air.

"It's no use trying to talk me out of it, Lisbon."

Her hair was a little messy, her cheeks a little flushed. She'd taken her sweatshirt off some time ago; her long-sleeved t-shirt had a caricature of an American Indian on the front, which Jane assumed was the hideously offensive mascot for some sports team or other. He stood and advanced on her.

"This is silly."

"Why? As you have already mentioned, we've danced together before."

"We were at a _dance_ then, Jane."

He took her hand, careful to avoid her injured arm, and tugged her gently to the center of the room. At the first contact, however, he felt his heart stutter in his chest. This may have been a mistake.

Lisbon caught his hesitation. Before she could flee, he put a hand on her slender hip and pulled her just a bit closer. His heart, mercifully, maintained a steady rhythm this time. They began to move.

"You're good at this," he said, after a minute or so of silence.

"Yeah, right."

"No, you are." He picked up the pace, forgetting for a moment about their proximity in favor of the pleasure of simply moving. Though she was clearly inexperienced, Lisbon did have good instincts. He spun her – once again careful to avoid her injury – and she laughed aloud when she returned to his arms.

"My youngest brother's a good dancer," she said.

"Tommy?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "He asked me to teach him before one of his junior high dances."

Another spin. When she returned to him this time, Lisbon met his gaze head on. She was flushed and disheveled, her eyes sparkling.

"And did he drive all the girls wild with the moves you taught him?"

A shadow crossed her face. "He didn't end up going." She shrugged. "But we had fun that afternoon, though – Tommy's a lot of fun. He was a riot when we were kids."

The song was coming to an end. They slowed, but Jane didn't loose his hold on her yet. She searched his face for a moment, confusion plain. There it was again – that stutter in his chest. It seemed to him that something was required here – some finesse he usually possessed, that had deserted him completely. He tried to think of something clever to say.

Lisbon's hand was on his chest, her eyes on his. A lock of hair fell across her forehead, and he wondered what she would do if he tucked it behind her ear. If he touched her that way, with that kind of intimacy. He'd probably lose a finger. Another song had started – a slower number this time – but neither of them moved.

Before he could figure out what was happening – what the next move should be, what direction he was headed or what the look in her eye meant or even which end was up – there was a knock on the door.

"Jane!"

Brad.

He and Lisbon sprang apart.

"Uh – yeah, just a second."

"You need to get out here. You're gonna want to see this."

Lisbon was gathering her things, fumbling with her laptop, looking for all the world like a schoolgirl caught committing some mortal sin. At the obvious intensity in the guard's voice, however, she slowed.

"What is it?" she asked, as Brad opened the door.

He looked surprised for a moment at finding someone else – particularly an attractive female someone else he'd never met before – inside the apartment.

"I came to do a final check-in. This was outside your door."

The three of them stood in the doorway. Jane wasn't certain what it was, at first – a dollhouse of some kind. Or a doll-room, rather… just a single room, fashioned from a small wooden box. When he looked inside, the world tilted.

"Jane?"

He stepped back. Lisbon crouched down to examine the tiny world that Ellie Jennings had left for him: the king-sized canopy bed, the large picture windows. On that miniature, king-sized canopy bed, a miniature blonde man sat covered in blood, a miniature wife and child in pieces beside him.

_TBC_


	6. Chapter 6

Jane was racing for the exit before Lisbon even knew what the hell they were looking at. The guard yelled after him and alarms sounded, but all that chaos receded once she realized what was in the innocent-looking wooden box. Lisbon had seen the original crime scene photos – it had felt like a violation looking at them even then, when they'd been investigating Red John… Like she was looking into the darkest parts of Jane's soul.

But this… A smiley face the size of a quarter, a curly-headed blonde figure cradling a tiny, bloodied family. Lisbon felt sick, just being near it.

She ran down the stairs after Jane and the guard, her cell phone in hand. The stairwell was dark and smelled like puke – because this was Jane, so God forbid he choose a normal place to live, now that he'd finally broken down and gotten an apartment. She slipped halfway down the last flight to the first floor, righted herself just in time, and a few seconds later was in the lobby with her heart pounding. The alarm was still going up on the third floor, sirens wailing outside, a few residents wandering around trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Jane was outside. The guard had already caught up to him, the two of them fighting – not arguing, not the usual annoying Jane banter, but actually fighting, while he put Jane in handcuffs.

"You have to let me go – I can find her. She's still here. She's not far, I guarantee that she's watching all of this." Jane whirled and nearly got away, but the guard – a small man, but wiry and faster than Lisbon expected – grabbed him by the arm and forced him to his knees.

"Goddammit, Jane, you need to calm down," the guard said. He didn't look happy about any of this – in fact, he looked worried as hell. A squad car came skidding up to the curb next, and two cops were on Jane before Lisbon really knew what was happening.

"You don't have to do that," Lisbon said, finally finding her voice.

By now, Jane was on his belly on the concrete, his hands on the back of his head, one of the cops poised with a knee in the small of his back.

"Easy, easy," Jane said. "Let's be reasonable here. If you'll just let me up, I can explain everything – "

"Shut up, Jane," Lisbon snapped. She turned to the cops. "This is all a misunderstanding – I was here the entire time, there's no reason for any of this."

"It doesn't look like a misunderstanding to me," the cop kneeling on Jane said. He was a big guy, with a seventies moustache and a beer gut. "He ran, right? You run with the lojack and you go back to jail – no passing go, no two hundred bucks."

"Look, you Neanderthal," Jane started.

"Jane!" Lisbon warned. By now a larger crowd had gathered, along with another two squad cars. Fan-freaking-tastic.

"Look, I'm with the CBI," she said. She flashed her ID, dialing LaRoche at the same time. "I'm telling you, this is all a misunderstanding. Let him go."

Seventies 'stash just stared at her. "I can't just – "

"Yeah, actually, you can," she said. She gave them that steely look that used to make Tommy fold like a card table whenever he was giving her crap and she'd had enough. "You get in trouble, you put it on me. But I'm telling you, I've got this."

The cops looked at the guard, who nodded his okay. They uncuffed Jane and helped him to his feet, where he brushed off his clothes and looked indignant. LaRoche answered the phone. He sounded like he'd been roused from a dead sleep, though it wasn't even eleven o'clock.

The cops got back in their squad car and peeled out, obviously pissed. The crowd began to disperse. Jane looked like he was about to make a break for it, so she took the phone away from her ear and gave him her most threatening glare. Not that that ever made a bit of difference, where he was concerned.

"If you run again, I'll cuff you myself – and I won't be nearly as gentle."

He made a face, but at least he stopped moving.

"It's Agent Lisbon, sir," she said, finally addressing LaRoche. "There's been an incident at Jane's apartment building. You may hear from some people, but I just wanted to let you know I have everything under control. And I have something I'd like to bring in to the lab for analysis."

"Is Jane all right?"

She was surprised at the question – and even more surprised at how sincere LaRoche sounded when he asked it.

"Yes, sir – he's just a little shaken up. He'll be fine."

Actually, Lisbon had no clue whether Jane would be fine or not. He definitely didn't _look _fine. Once she was off the phone, she made the guard take Jane's monitoring device off his leg, and told him to go home. If she was gonna lose her job over this, might as well do it right, right? Then, she and Jane went back upstairs to his apartment.

Jane moved slow, like a little more weight was added to his shoulders with every step. She thought of the two of them in his apartment before all this happened – the dance he'd insisted on, the way he'd laughed…

He was different since he got out of jail – there was no denying that. Lisbon still couldn't figure out if this was just another Jane angle (which it probably was, who was she kidding?), or if something really had changed for him when he killed Red John. Against every sensible bone in her body, she'd wanted to believe things really were different. For his sake – and her sanity – it would be nice to think Jane was ready to join the human race again.

And now this.

"I'm gonna take this over to the crime scene guys," she told him once they were back outside his door, nodding toward the dollhouse. "They can dust for prints, check for DNA."

"They'll only find what she wants us to find."

"Maybe – maybe not, you don't know that. As far as you could tell, though…" she shifted, uncomfortable with where this conversation would lead.

"What?" Jane asked. "Is that what I found when Red John slaughtered my family?"

She met his eye. "We'll figure this out, Jane. You've just gotta give me a little time. Have some faith."

He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked so weird without his three-piece suit. So… Human. She wasn't sure she cared for the change. He seemed more dangerous this way, somehow.

"Thank you," he said. His eyes slid from hers, back down to the miniature murder scene. "I'll go with you, if you don't mind. I'd like to take a closer look myself."

"Yeah, of course. Just get your stuff. I'll make sure the judge knows I okayed all this, so you don't get in trouble."

He barely acknowledged her words. Lisbon stood outside the door, listening while he grabbed a change of clothes and turned off the crappy little radio they'd been listening to before. When he came back out he was in his uniform – his hair a little wild, a little more scruff than usual, but still with the neatly pressed three-piece suit. He seemed like a different man.

They didn't say much of anything on the way to the CBI. Lisbon glanced Jane's way every so often, hoping she could draw him out again, but he was focused on the scene passing outside his passenger's side window. The whole thing sucked, as far as Lisbon was concerned – not just because there was apparently some lunatic out there making twisted little dollhouse homages to Red John, but because now there was really no way in hell she could stay mad at Jane anymore. She'd been hoping to nurse that grudge a little longer. It was so much easier to deal with Jane when she was pissed at him.

Now, though…

"So, I suppose I'm forgiven now," he said. Reading her mind, as usual.

"Because of this? Please," she said. "This might get you the sympathy vote from the rest of the team, but you've gotta try a lot harder if you want to get on my good side."

She glanced at him, and was rewarded with the tiniest flicker of a smile before he went back to staring out the window.

Brett Partridge was thrilled when Lisbon brought the dollhouse in to the lab. Lisbon had never actually seen Jane resort to violence before, but she figured if there was anything that could push him to it, this was it – on her orders, he stayed outside the room with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, peering inside the doorway.

"Whoa," Partridge said. "Look at the detail on this thing. I bet that's real blood in there, too."

Lisbon glanced at the door. Jane was leaning in the doorsill, his gaze following the forensics expert's every move.

"That's what we want you to look at," she said. "Check for DNA, prints, anything you can find."

"Weird that your guy chose this scene, huh?" Brett said.

Lisbon looked at him for a second, not sure what he was asking.

"Not something from the crime scene photos," he explained. "I mean – you look at the detail, the perspective, and it's almost like somebody was actually there, watching this play out. Hiding in a closet, looking in a window… It's sick, man."

He said 'sick' with a smile, his tone suggesting he was having way too much fun with this. A ghoul – wasn't that what Jane had called him once?

His words registered after a few seconds; Lisbon felt her stomach drop. She looked toward the door again.

Jane was gone.

"You'll put a rush on those results?"

Partridge shrugged. "I'll do my best, but money's tight these days, and time's tighter."

"Just make it happen."

She left before he could argue.

Lisbon found Jane in her office, sitting on the couch with a steaming cup of tea. He looked up when she came in.

"That man's a psychopath," he said. "I'm telling you – one day we're going to find sweet old women hacked to pieces in his basement."

"He's good at what he does."

"Of course – we're all good at what we're most passionate about. Doesn't make him any less of a lunatic, though."

It was midnight by now – most of the building dark, except for a couple of lights in the hallways, a random computer monitor, the red glow of an exit sign down the hall. Lisbon went to her desk and sat, but it felt weird being so far away given the questions she knew she'd need to ask. She stood once more. Walked stiffly back to the couch, and sat down beside Jane.

"Jane."

"You've seen the file?" he asked.

She looked at him uncertainly. "File?"

"My file – my family's file. The murder. You've seen the photos."

Right. That file.

"Yeah." She paused, still not sure how to handle this. Dammit – why couldn't he just have normal-sized skeletons like everybody else on the planet? A thing for women's underwear, maybe a steamy affair with a second cousin or something?

"That wasn't a photo in the file," he said.

"It would be easy enough to imagine it, though," she said. "You know Red John was trying to torture you – it would've been natural for him to go a step further in his head, maybe play out how you'd react." Just the thought was enough to turn her stomach.

He stared at his tea cup. Lisbon had never known any men who drank tea, before Jane. Her father, all her brothers, uncles, cousins, every guy she'd ever dated – they were all coffee drinkers. Well… Coffee, or something stronger. She never would've imagined a guy could be attractive to her, with a little blue tea cup in his hand.

"Someone was there," he said, after a few seconds. He stared into space, seeing something Lisbon was pretty sure she wouldn't have survived. She was a fighter, sure, but… Jesus. Everybody has their limits.

"You don't know that, Jane."

"Of course I know that – that scene wasn't the product of someone's overactive imagination. It wasn't just some fantasy. I was there – believe me, I know exactly what that room looked like. No one else could have known."

"So, what are you saying here?" Almost before the words were out of her mouth, she wished she hadn't asked.

"You really want me to spell it out for you, Lisbon? Red John was there. And maybe this Ellie Jennings was with him – or maybe he just took snapshots while I tried to put my wife and child back together again." He swallowed hard, his eyes locked on the wall. "But the fact remains… Red John stayed. He murdered my family, and then he lay in wait to watch my reaction. He was there the whole time."

By the time the rest of the team got in the next morning, Jane was asleep on the couch, and Lisbon was beginning to seriously question the wisdom of completely skipping a night's sleep. Once Jane had passed out, though, she'd taken advantage of the peace to pull his file. She'd gone back to the lab and compared the crime scene photos in Jane's file with the dollhouse Ellie Jennings had left, her skin crawling the whole time. Jane was right – not all of the details matched. But, like he'd said, it didn't look like this was some fantasy scenario – it looked like this had been the scene before the police got there, and someone had been there to see it firsthand.

When Rigsby and Van Pelt got in – within minutes of each other and smelling of the same soap, just like old times – Lisbon rounded them up and motioned them into the lab before they woke Jane, still fast asleep on her couch.

"What's up, boss?" Rigsby asked. He glanced back toward Jane's sleeping form, forehead furrowed. "What's Jane doing here?"

"Ssh – don't wake him. I need to show you guys something."

They followed her into the elevator and down to the basement level, where Brett Partidge and his lab were housed. It was just after eight o'clock but the day was in full swing, with agents around every corner; Lisbon was pretty sure she knew exactly what the water cooler talk would be about for the next week or so. When they got to Partridge's office, she could hardly contain her anger when she found Partridge with three agents – none of them remotely connected with crime scene investigation, and all of them attractive females – looking over the dollhouse.

"Agent Partridge, if you'll excuse us," she said coldly.

He gave the women a meaningful nod, and they high tailed it out of there. Partridge stood his ground, though.

"You can't throw me out of my own office."

"Do you have lab results for me? Fingerprints?"

"We just got the thing a few hours ago – "

"Then I don't need you here. And maybe I should remind you that this is an ongoing investigation and, as such, details should not be shared with anyone outside the immediate investigative team."

Rigsby and Van Pelt were still in the doorway; Lisbon could practically fell the curiosity coming off both of them. She waited for Partridge to get in some smartass parting shot, relieved when he stayed quiet. She wasn't sure she could restrain herself much longer.

When he was gone, Rigsby and Van Pelt came in and gravitated toward the dollhouse immediately.

"What is this?" Rigsby asked. "It's like the dollhouse from hell."

"Is that – " Van Pelt stopped short once she got a better look. "Oh my gosh. This is what Red John did?"

"Jeez, are you kidding me?" Rigsby stooped low to get a good look inside, peering in through the front door.

"Somebody left it outside Jane's door last night," Lisbon said.

"He must have freaked out," Van Pelt said. She turned away after a few more seconds, like she couldn't stand the sight of it anymore.

"He's pretty shaken up," Lisbon agreed. "I wanted to give you guys a heads-up, though – Jane thinks whoever sent this might have been in the house when…" She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. The night was catching up to her fast.

"He thinks Red John might have stuck around after he got done killing Jane's wife and daughter," she finished.

"Why?" Van Pelt looked horrified.

"To watch him fall apart," Rigsby said grimly.

Lisbon nodded. "There are a few differences between the crime scene photos and what's shown here. Jane says it's consistent with the way things played out."

"How does he know whoever this was didn't just fantasize the whole thing, working backward from the crime scene photos?" Van Pelt asked.

"There are some things they only would have known if they'd been there," she said. Once Jane had suggested it, Lisbon had gone back through. The differences she'd found between the scene in the dollhouse and the one shown in the crime scene photos was enough to make her sick.

Van Pelt started working through the same comparison, Rigsby peering over her shoulder.

"Oh my god," she said. Her eyes filled with tears.

"What?" Rigsby continued looking from the photos to the dollhouse, oblivious. "I'm not seeing it."

"Look at the way his daughter was found," she said. She handed him the photos and walked away.

Rigsby blanched. "He dressed them before he called the cops. Took out the…" He shook his head. "Jeez. Who does that to a kid?" He sat down heavily in Partridge's office chair. "So, you're saying Red John… What? Hid out in the closet or something and watched Jane find his family?"

His jaw hardened. "I'm sorry – you guys can feel however you want, but I'm glad he killed the bastard. If it'd been me, and somebody did something like this to the people I love…" His eyes settled on Van Pelt before they drifted away, still haunted. "I would've done the same thing. I'd probably go crazy first, but if it was the last thing I did, I'd make the bastard pay."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," Jane said. Everyone turned on a dime, three faces fixed on his.

"There's no reason to look so guilty," he said easily. Only his eyes gave him away – flat and dull, just a hint of shock there.

"I just figured it'd be good if we were all on the same page," Lisbon said.

He nodded. "Of course."

All three of them stood awkwardly while Jane stared at the dollhouse. Finally, he cleared his throat.

"I'd like to take a closer look."

"Of course," Lisbon agreed. "Take as long as you need. We'll just be back in the bullpen."

"Rigsby, do you smell anything odd with this? Anything at all?" he asked, before they could leave.

Rigsby looked at him blankly. "Huh?"

"The smell… Just lean in, get a good whiff. Close your eyes."

Rigsby looked pleadingly toward Lisbon. She just shrugged, so the agent dutifully closed his eyes and leaned in close.

"It doesn't smell like anything."

"Don't be ridiculous – everything smells like something. Focus."

Rigsby looked self-conscious for a second or two before he leaned in again. A few seconds passed in silence while he sniffed the dollhouse like a hound dog trying to pick up a scent. Lisbon had the unacceptable urge to laugh out loud – another sure sign that she was way too tired.

"Well?" Jane finally prompted.

"Paint – I think part of this must've just been painted, not too long ago. And flowers."

"Flowers?" Jane asked. "Not perfume?"

Rigsby straightened and opened his eyes. "Nah – I don't think so. It smells kind of… I don't know, earthy."

"Van Pelt, you try," Jane ordered. He was still standing in the doorway. Despite everything, Lisbon felt a twinge of annoyance.

"Jane, maybe you should just smell it yourself," she said, trying to be at least a little bit gentle given the circumstances.

"No – I'd rather not, if you don't mind. Please. Grace…"

While Grace was sniffing massacred dolls and miniature furniture, Cho arrived on the scene.

"Hey – I was supposed to pick you up this morning," he told Jane the moment he saw him. "You could've called. Why's Van Pelt sniffing a dollhouse?"

Lisbon glanced at him. "Long story – I'll explain it in my office. Jane?"

He held up his hand, a signal to hang on. Van Pelt finally nodded. "Wayne's right – it's not perfume, it smells like flowers. And dirt. A garden, maybe."

"Or a greenhouse?" Jane asked. He was watching them sharply. Waiting.

Van Pelt considered the question for a few seconds before she nodded. "It could, I guess – I'm not really sure, though. It's hard to say."

"Of course," Jane said. "Thank you for humoring me. I'll be with you all in a few minutes."

Rigsby, Van Pelt, and Cho filed out. Lisbon remained behind, however, watching as Jane slowly closed the distance between he and the dollhouse.

"If you need anything…" she said.

He didn't answer – just nodded, circling, his whole body tensed.

Lisbon left him.


	7. Chapter 7

It could have been a video camera, Jane mused, still circling the macabre display that had been left at his doorstep. Red John could have murdered his family, and then placed a camera there to catch the whole thing.

Of course, no such camera had been discovered by the police. Red John had a way of making things disappear, though; of getting into places others might consider inaccessible, in order to do his worst. The Jane family crime scene wouldn't have been that difficult, with all of the police and investigators and reporters and crime scene ghouls haunting the property.

Somehow, Jane doubted that that was what had happened, however. It wasn't Red John's style. No – Red John was much more likely to have lurked behind, waiting. Basking in the glory of Jane's despair…

He would have wanted a front row seat.

Jane wondered why the thought hadn't occurred to him sooner.

He peered into the dollhouse, his hands braced on either side of the table as he leaned in. Paint and flowers… Possibly a garden or a greenhouse. Was Ellie Jennings a gardener of some kind? Jane inhaled deeply, beginning at one of the walls and working his way across.

Nothing.

He couldn't smell a damned thing.

Well, then… He still had four senses to work with. Life had been much simpler without sight – this olfactory lack limited his abilities in ways he never would have imagined.

Inside the dollhouse, the scene was as he remembered it: canopy bed, antique dressers, vanity at one wall. Carpeted floor, matching night stands on either side of the bed, with matching lamps on each of them.

The doll meant to represent him sat on the edge of the bed. For a moment, an image flashed before his eyes:

Walking through the door.

The smiling face on the wall.

Blood, in spraying arcs around the room. Pooled on the carpet.

Charlotte.

He gasped, as though doused with ice water. Scrubbed a hand across his face.

Stay focused – falling apart now would accomplish nothing. It never did. He turned his attention back to the miniature room, where something inside caught his eye.

Partridge's office was neat as a pin – a place for everything, etc. Jane surveyed a broad range of tools on the technician's desk before he found a pair of tweezers, and returned to the dollhouse once more. The object was on the nightstand, on what would have been his side of the bed. A book – small, but perfect in its miniature form. Jane picked it up and brought it closer, recognizing it after a moment as a tiny, dog-eared copy of Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein. _

He went in search of a magnifying glass. The book had been lying open on the nightstand, spine-side-up. Jane gazed at the minuscule letters, trying to decipher the words.

"Hey – you can't touch that!"

Brett Partridge stalked into the room, clearly peeved. Jane smoothly palmed the book.

"You shouldn't be in here," Partridge continued. "You especially shouldn't be here without Agent Lisbon or one of the other CBI agents. Give me that." He held out his hand, his needle nose quivering with indignation.

Jane handed him the tweezers and magnifying glass.

"All of it," Partridge said.

"That is all of it." Jane opened his hands, holding them palm up and down to demonstrate. "See. You have everything."

"I better." The man went to his station without another word. Jane lingered.

"Is there something else?" Partridge asked.

Jane stood there a moment, undecided. It had felt like this before – leaving his family to a bunch of cold investigators. Now that he knew how the process worked, it was worse; he was well-acquainted with the gallows humor, the indignities the victims faced after death. Now, he was one of the worst perpetrators. Strangely, knowing that these were dolls, mere symbols of the family he had lost, made it only slightly more bearable. He made no move to go.

Partridge stared at him. "Well? Is there something else you need, or not?"

If nothing else, the fact that Partridge, at least, wasn't treating him like a glass about to shatter held some comfort. Jane shook his head.

"No. No, there's nothing else."

He walked out, hands in his pockets, the miniature _Frankenstein _safely secreted away.

Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt all fell silent as soon as Jane appeared at the CBI hub. LaRoche was in Lisbon's office.

"Did you figure anything out?" Rigsby asked.

He shook his head. He had no doubt that the Shelley book was an important piece of this puzzle, but he wasn't ready to share that yet.

"How long's LaRoche been in there?" he asked Cho.

"A couple minutes. They delivered your furniture."

The statement confused him for just a moment, out of context as it was. Once he caught on, he shrugged impatiently. It seemed a pointless effort, suddenly, to be attempting to set up another home after all this time.

"It's a lot of furniture," Cho continued.

"Yes, well… It's a lot of space."

"You're gonna need help refinishing that woodwork." It was delivered in typical Cho-style monotone, but Jane forced himself up from those grey depths in which he seemed to be drowning once more, recognizing the significance behind them.

"Thank you," he managed. His voice sounded broken again. How tiresome. How dreary and tiresome, to be in the thick of this all over again.

Cho glanced at him, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. "I didn't say we'd help. Just that you'll need some."

"Jane – can we see you a minute, please," Lisbon called from her office.

Jane looked from Cho to Rigsby to Van Pelt, all eyes on him. He hadn't had friends before, really… He'd had Angela and Charlotte. Angela had had friends; Jane had had work. Charlotte had had play-dates. Jane had worked. Eight years, and his universe had changed in ways he never could have anticipated. They were not welcome changes, for the most part… These people, though.

These people, Jane thought, were welcome.

LaRoche looked up with his sad eyes and down-turned mouth when Jane appeared at Lisbon's door.

"We're adding a security detail to your home," he began.

Jane shook his head. "In addition to the monitoring device and the guard I already have? Huge waste of time."

"Agent Lisbon thinks you're in danger."

He shrugged. "This woman doesn't want to kill me yet," he attempted reassuring them. "She's continuing Red John's work. He didn't want me dead." Only those around him. Jane didn't say the words aloud, but they lingered in the silence nevertheless.

"Jane, you shouldn't be alone," Lisbon said.

"Lisbon, I'm touched. Are you offering to stay with me?"

She blushed, the faintest hint of rose to her cheeks. "Of course not, I just – "

"We meant an actual police detail," LaRoche said. "Not CBI."

"No need – it would be a waste of time and resources. If Re – " he caught himself. "If this Ellie Jennings wants to get to me, she'll do so. I prefer to just go about life the way I was… She'll come to me."

"Which is exactly why we want someone watching you," Lisbon said.

Jane shook his head, resolute. "No. It won't help, mark my words. Just leave it alone for the moment."

The room fell silent as they worked through the stalemate. Finally, JJ LaRoche cleared his throat.

"Well – fine, for now. But you do need to see our counselor, particularly after this latest incident – "

"There's far too much going on for me to – "

LaRoche leveled his most no-nonsense gaze at him. "It's a condition of your release. Either see the counselor or go back to jail."

Jane almost said fine – send him back. But then he thought of the jumpsuit and the wretched food and the dry days, and, of course, the stabbing. He held his tongue.

"She's expecting you at eleven o'clock," LaRoche said. He looked at Lisbon. "See that he gets there?"

"Of course, sir."

LaRoche lumbered out, leaving them alone. Jane settled on the couch once again.

"You should go home, get some sleep," he told Lisbon. "You look exhausted."

"Thanks," she said dryly.

She sat back behind her desk, a stack of paperwork already awaiting her attention. Though she had clearly showered and changed her clothes, her eyes were shadowed, her face a bit drawn.

"I'm serious, Lisbon. What can't wait a few hours? Just go home, get some rest."

"Forget it, Jane, I'm fine." She began shuffling paperwork, though he knew this was only a ruse to delay the inevitable.

"Would you like to know what I learned in the lab?" he asked, when he was certain not doing so was killing Lisbon.

She looked up. A faint storm of concern flashed in her eyes before she recovered, returning to dead calm once more.

"Did you find something?"

He hesitated a very long time. She waited. Finally, he shuffled a bit until he withdrew the miniature book from his pocket. He stood, depositing the tiny item on her desk.

"What is it?"

"It was on the nightstand in the dollhouse."

Instantly, her brow furrowed. "Dammit, Jane – you can't just take something – "

He quirked an eyebrow at her. Without him having to say a word, she settled down, realizing the futility of her outburst.

"So, what the hell is it?"

"_Frankenstein,_" Jane said. "Partridge came in before I could decipher which passage it's opened to."

"And this wasn't part of the original crime scene?"

"No. As far as I could tell, however, this is the only thing that's different."

"Great. So Red John was all about creepy poetry, and Ellie Jennings is all about monster movies."

"Have you read _Frankenstein_?"

She looked uncomfortable, as Lisbon often did when she had to admit ignorance in a matter. He broke in before she had the chance to reply.

"Frankenstein was the doctor, actually – not the monster. He made the monster. The scientist himself is typically viewed as something of a tragic figure, who created this monstrous creature as a result of his arrogance and complete disregard for the natural order of things. The monster, infuriated at his own isolation and the miserable state of the life the doctor has given him, becomes obsessed with destroying Frankenstein by killing those closest to him."

"So… What? You think Jennings sees Red John as Dr. Frankenstein?"

Jane considered that for a moment. "Possibly. Or she sees me as Frankenstein and Red John as my creation – a hapless victim of my arrogance."

"But that's nuts. Red John was already a monster – how many people did he kill before he ever even heard of you? You didn't create him."

He shrugged. "It's a matter of perspective, I suppose. I don't know that being considered the monster in this scenario would be preferable."

"Maybe you're interpreting it wrong. Maybe Ellie Jennings is Frankenstein."

"Maybe. I don't know that we have enough pieces yet to know with any certainty what it means… I just know that there's some significance to her inclusion of the book."

Lisbon came over and sat beside him. He continued to stare into space. The weight was beginning to settle in now… He had just begun to feel lighter, to experience some release now that Red John was gone. Short-lived as it had been, it had felt good.

"We'll figure it out, Jane," she said. She touched his arm – something she only did when he was hurting. He tried to imagine what she had been like as a child, raising those unruly brothers on her own. Before he could draw any comfort from her presence, he stood abruptly.

"I should go – we have work to do. I just wanted to tell you what I found." This time, he did meet her gaze – forcing her to do the same. "I told you I would keep you informed – I won't let you down this time. You believe me, don't you?"

She hesitated. Frowned, with just a hint of a pout. Her eyes weren't the slightest bit trusting, but she nodded after a moment.

"Yeah… Sure."

"That's a lie." He waved it off. "That's all right – I understand. But I'll fix it, you'll see. Just give me some time."

"Great. Whatever. Just keep talking to me – that's all I ask." She paused again, thinking things through. "And I won't mention the book to Partridge yet… Let's just wait and see if it's actually relevant."

"That's good – that's very good. You won't regret it." When he reached her door, Jane turned back one more time, struck by a sudden thought.

"You were given six months mandatory anger management shortly before…"

She nodded. "Yeah. Thanks to you."

"Right." He flashed a winning smile. "So, are you doing that with this new woman?"

"Rachel?" Lisbon asked. Her eyes skated from his. Interesting. "Yeah, I am."

"Ah. So you're seeing her, too. She knows all your secrets."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, Jane." A thought suddenly occurred to her; she looked horror struck. "You can't try to get into her files while you're there – and don't spend all your time trying to weasel information from her about me."

"Me?" He put his hand to his heart, the picture of the unjustly accused. "Lisbon, I'm hurt. I would never think of breaking your sacred trust with the good doctor."

She continued to look at him with overt distrust. He decided it was one of his top five favorite Lisbon expressions – the pinched mouth, the furrowed forehead, the pretty little glare.

"Well – good. Just go talk about yourself, the way you're supposed to. She's good at what she does. You might even like her. Focus on telling some of your secrets – leave mine alone."

"Meh. What fun is that?"

He paused once more, hand on the doorknob. "Though you should know by now – I don't need some psychiatrist to tell me your secrets. I can find them out quite ably on my own." He flashed another wide grin, and was gone before she could respond.

_TBC_


	8. Chapter 8

**_A/N_** – _Sorry for the delayed update, folks. However - As we're approaching the season 4 premiere of The Mentalist, I'll be increasing the rate of updates in order to ensure that the fic is done before the new season begins… Because canon, as it turns out, is nothing like this fic, and I'm sure to lose steam once Jane & Co start behaving in wildly different ways under Bruno Heller's able direction. ;) Expect another update on Sunday, with chapters coming every few days until the end! _

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><p>Rachel Fellows was likely in her mid-sixties; fit and sturdy in appearance, with a wizened face made attractive by sparkling blue eyes and a wide, laughing mouth. She wore her long gray hair in a braid down her back, and – in blue jeans and a man's shirt, the sleeves rolled at the wrists – looked as though she would be more at home on a ranch than an office in Sacramento.<p>

Jane arrived at her office promptly at eleven o'clock, and sat on her sofa – a well-worn, unattractive flowered thing that was surprisingly comfortable – without being asked.

Rachel sat in a matching chair opposite him.

"It's nice to finally meet you – you're quite the celebrity around here," she said. He detected a faint Midwestern accent.

"Whatever Lisbon has said, I assure you she was exaggerating."

She smiled, as though she had already been informed of his tricks.

"Teresa has too much on her plate to spend too much time talking about you. But she does worry – everybody does. How are you adjusting to being back in the field?"

He swung his feet up onto the sofa and stretched out. Yawned mightily.

"It's always nice to be of service," he said. "Quite tiring, though. I hope you don't mind…" He closed his eyes, pleased with himself. He held nothing against the good doctor per se… He just had no intention of sharing his demons with anyone – particularly not a stranger. So, he could convey that to Rachel and get a nap in at the same time. Lovely.

A few minutes passed. Neither of them spoke. Jane opened one eye.

Rachel was settled contentedly in her chair, a basket of knitting in her lap. She seemed utterly oblivious to his presence. Jane smiled. Well, good. She may think this a clever technique to get him to talk, but she had no idea with whom she was playing. He closed his eyes once more, crossed his arms over his chest, and was just about to drop off when her words triggered something in his mind.

"Lisbon does have a lot on her plate," he agreed conversationally, seemingly out of the blue. He sat up once more.

Rachel looked up from her knitting. "Yes, she does. Did you have a nice nap?"

"With the shooting, and Van Pelt," Jane continued. "And me, of course. I haven't made anything easier." He studied the woman closely, searching for tells. She returned her attention to the knitting with an absent nod.

"It's a lot for an office to take," she said.

"But that's not what you meant when you said Lisbon has a lot on her plate." He was intrigued now, utterly against his will. The good doctor looked up once more, just a hint of laughter in her eyes. He was being played.

"Oh, you are good – Lisbon was right." He scrubbed his chin with his hand, fidgeting while Rachel continued to knit absently.

"Baby booties," he commented. "They're very nice."

"Thank you. My daughter's expecting twins at the end of the month. I'm way behind."

"Twins." He whistled softly. "Babies are lovely. Two, though… More to love, I suppose. Does she live nearby?"

She looked up, as though she only just realized he was still speaking. Yes – she was very good indeed.

"My daughter? No. She doesn't."

"A shame. It's nice to have family nearby. Well," he amended thoughtfully, "I suppose that depends on the family."

"You wouldn't want your family nearby?"

He grew quiet suddenly.

Rachel's features softened. She set the knitting aside. "I'm sorry, Patrick – I didn't mean the family that you lost. I meant parents. Brothers, sisters."

"My parents are dead, and I have no siblings," he replied, forcing a lightness he didn't feel. "Not like Lisbon – now _her_ family… _That's _a family I could understand wanting some distance from."

He was rewarded with the faintest flicker of a smile, accompanied by a hint of compassion in her eyes. Lisbon had been talking about her family, then. Of course she had – she might not share that particular aspect of her world with him, but it was clear that her brothers played a significant role in her life.

"Her youngest brother," he began, risking a glance up before he returned his gaze to the carpet. "Tommy… I suspect he's given her some problems over the years. Is perhaps still giving her problems?"

There was no response. He looked up to find the woman regarding him with a bold smile and an arched eyebrow.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"It's not my place to talk about any of that. If you want to know about Lisbon's troubles with her brother Tommy, perhaps you should ask _her._"

It was a bold statement, spoken with a misleading lightness as the woman returned to her knitting. Nevertheless, Jane had the distinct impression that the psychologist had given him exactly as much information as she had intended.

Jane stretched back out on the sofa, folded his hands over his chest once more, and closed his eyes. For the remaining thirty minutes of his fifty-minute hour, he slept fitfully, his overactive brain consumed with the dilemma of what, precisely, Lisbon's troubles with her brother might be… And how he might get the overly secretive agent to confide in him.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day was singularly unpleasant. Jane spent most of it meeting with the police and his attorney – explaining what had happened the night before, why he had run from the building, and doing everything in his power to convince them that he deserved another chance. Lisbon, predictably enough, was the one who ensured that he remained free for at least a little while longer, by vowing on her job that she would keep him out of trouble.<p>

No new information came in regarding the dollhouse – there were no fingerprints beyond the police and CBI's, and DNA would take several more days, at least. Jane and Rigsby went out to a crime scene later that afternoon, but it was a domestic dispute in which the husband had clearly bludgeoned his wife, though the man swore it had been a jealous lover. Jane surveyed the dingy city street until he saw a hardware store, and strolled in to attend to some business while Rigsby finished up without him.

All in all, it was not a good day.

That evening, Lisbon gave Jane a ride back to his apartment. It had been her idea to do so, but it seemed a perfect opportunity to try and glean some more information about whatever was happening with her brother. She was predictably closed-mouthed, however, casting a suspicious glance at him the moment he broached the subject.

They returned instead to the topic of the monstrous dollhouse and the miniature _Frankenstein. _Given what had happened afterward, neither of them had made any mention of the dance in his apartment the night before, or that extended moment of tension-laden silence in one another's arms _after_ that dance… Of course, nothing had actually happened, but he knew Lisbon too well to think she hadn't noticed.

Oh, she'd noticed, all right.

In typical Lisbon fashion, however, she'd locked that moment away somewhere. Dismissed it as inconsequential, or a trick of the light. Her imagination. Inconvenience. Lord only knew how the woman's mind worked when it came to such things.

It wasn't that Jane wanted to pursue the matter any more than she did, of course. Particularly not given the grisly gift Ellie Jennings had left for him. Still… the memory of Lisbon in his arms was proving far more distracting than it actually should, considering the circumstances.

"You're quiet," she said, when they were a mere ten minutes from his apartment.

"Just a bit tired. You must be exhausted. I dozed all day, and I'm exhausted."

She shrugged. "I'm all right – I'll just get to bed early tonight. No big deal."

Truth be told, she actually did look exhausted. She had a tendency to push herself too far – she was unforgiving of her own frailties, and yet expected almost nothing from those around her. She was prickly and stubborn and distrustful. Socially awkward, and given to violent fits of temper.

He wondered, sometimes, why it mattered so very much to him that she remain in his life.

She pulled neatly into a parking space about a block from his apartment.

"Part of the stipulation of working with the CBI – " he began awkwardly.

She waved him off, already opening her door. "I know the stipulations, Jane. I deliver you to your guard, sign off on your daily worksheets, make sure you're safe and secure before I take off."

He grimaced. He was feeling unaccountably self-conscious about Lisbon being there for his little evening ritual with Brad. He had to hurry a bit to catch up with her, her athletic stride having already carried her well down the block before he joined her.

"Slow down. Take a breath," he said.

She flashed him one of her looks. It was a more humid day than usual for the area, the air thick enough that Jane could almost taste the salt of the nearby ocean. Lisbon's hair curled when it was humid, something Jane knew annoyed her. He liked it, however. The shorter cut made the ends curl around her face prettily, softening her features.

"I just want to get home."

"Of course. I just…"

When he didn't complete the thought, she turned, an eyebrow raised. "You just what?"

He felt himself blush, just a bit. "I just like to take my time, getting back in there. I miss my evening walks. These days, this is the closest I get to them."

Rather than the lecture he expected on how he wouldn't be in this situation if he'd shown more restraint, Lisbon slowed her pace slightly. A trio of teenage boys were skateboarding in the street, while an old man took his customary place at the edge of the pier, fishing rod in hand. Jane had observed him in the same spot every night since he'd moved to the neighborhood. One of the skateboarding boys was attempting to ride his board along the metal guardrail – a dangerous proposition, since a wrong move could land him in the polluted waters below.

As one of the boys skated past, Jane called after him. The boy turned.

"Jane, what are you – " Lisbon snapped.

"Whaddyou want?" the boy asked. He was thin and sullen, wearing a ratty black Tupac t-shirt several sizes too large. Jane was charmed. Skateboards and Tupac… Clearly, the boy had respect for the classics.

"May I use your skateboard?" he asked politely. When they just stared at him, slack-jawed, he explained. "I'd like to try that stunt your friend's attempting."

The stuntman stopped what he was doing, dropped his skateboard, and swiftly wheeled over to them.

"You think you can grind that?"

He grinned. "If that means can I ride that rail with your board, then… Well, I don't know." He shrugged affably. "But I'd like to try."

"Jane, cut it out – we need to get inside."

"Just a minute, Lisbon. This will be fun."

"It'll be fun if your ass lands in the drink," one of the other boys said. Tupac handed Jane his skateboard.

"You keep the nose down or your ass is definitely gonna get wet."

"Or killed," Lisbon said. "Dammit, Jane."

He was grinning now, a welcome surge of life rushing over him. He removed his jacket and handed it to Lisbon, followed by his vest. Unbuttoned his sleeves.

"You gonna strip to your skivvies before you try this thing?" Tupac asked. Jane was beginning to like him. "I got places to be."

"Don't we all," Lisbon said dryly. He could tell she was intrigued, however.

The boys placed bets. Jane hesitated a moment more.

"If I make this, I get to keep the skateboard."

Tupac looked uncertain. "That's my only board."

"You think he's gonna make it?" his friend asked. "This fucker's gonna get wet, bitch. What you give us if you don't make it?"

He considered the question for a moment. "One hundred dollars."

"Each?" Tupac again.

"Each," he agreed brazenly.

Lisbon merely shook her head.

"All right – stand back, Lisbon. I need to get enough momentum going…"

The shoes would be the trick, really – he wasn't fond of sneakers necessarily, but they would certainly be preferable in this situation. He moved farther back down the street, the board in his hand, gauging the distance and the lift that would be required, when it came time to hop the board.

"Jane," someone called to him. He turned. Brad stood in front of his apartment building, arms crossed over his chest. Clearly, he was unhappy.

Jane held up a hand. "Just one moment – I'll be right there."

The boys looked uneasy at sight of the uniformed man now looking on. Jane shut that out, however. He chanced a glance at Lisbon and winked at her, rewarded with her soft pout and an exaggerated eye roll.

He focused.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you," Lisbon was saying. He shook the water from his hair with the fervor of a wet dog. "You're gonna glow in the dark tonight – that water's filthy."<p>

"Bah – Nonsense, Lisbon. Where's your sense of adventure? Anyway, how filthy can it be? People fish here, don't they? I'll be fine."

He cheerfully counted out three hundred dollars and handed it to the boys, who were all beaming. The old fisherman was watching all of this as though he were the last sane man on the planet. As the boys skated off, Lisbon shook her head in disbelief. Jane was shivering now, his teeth chattering, grin still intact – though it was June, the Pacific was not an ocean known for its moderate temperature.

"Come on – let's get you inside, you idiot."

"No sense of adventure at all," he said mournfully. Brad joined them, looking even less amused than Lisbon.

They went into his building in silence. Though usually very pleasant, today Brad looked tired and put upon, his mouth pressed into a thin, humorless line.

"Jacket," he said, as soon as they were safely inside. Lisbon looked confused for a moment before she handed Jane's jacket, still tucked over her arm, to the guard.

Brad checked the pockets and turned the clothing inside out, checking the lining. Clearly, they had suffered a setback – the man hadn't done this since their first night together.

"Any weapons?"

Jane sighed. "Brad, really. I would think you'd know me better than that by now."

"Hands on the wall, feet shoulder-width apart."

"Is that really necessary?" Lisbon asked. "He's soaked. And he's been with me all day – he's clean. No weapons. I'm sure of it."

"Just procedure, Miss."

He patted Jane down, and predictably came up empty.

"There. Do you feel better now?" Jane asked.

Brad shrugged, the faintest hint of humor in his eyes. "You could've gotten me fired last night – you know that, right? Where else am I gonna get a gig where they pay for an apartment and let me sleep all day and write all night?"

"I apologize," Jane said sincerely. "I was… Well, I clearly wasn't thinking right."

"Just don't let it happen again." And with that, Jane could tell the air was cleared – they would be fine. The guard smiled dryly. "You know your furniture came today?"

"Cho mentioned something. I trust you've already done all the heavy lifting that may be required."

"Yeah, right. Let's see the leg."

Jane tried for an endearing grin aimed toward Lisbon, but his heart wasn't in it. He set his foot on a chair and lifted his dripping pant leg. Thought back to the life-affirming chill of the ocean, the welcome feel of the water closing around him.

Brad fastened the monitoring device around his ankle. Jane saw Lisbon look away, as though pained by the process.

"Looks like you're getting some chafing – we can switch legs if you want," Brad offered.

Jane shook his head quickly and let his pant leg fall back down. "No, thank you – it's fine."

"He's all set?" Lisbon asked. He expected her to make a fast exit now, but instead she nodded grimly toward the elevator.

"Get in."

"You've done your duty for the day, Lisbon. Go home. Get some sleep."

"Just get in the damn elevator, Jane. I'm gonna make sure you get back to your apartment safely. _Then_ I'll go."

Brad was amused, his eyebrows raised and an implication of something not entirely pure in his eyes.

Jane shrugged. "What can I say? She's a little worrier, this one," he said, putting a soggy arm 'round her shoulders.

Lisbon rolled her eyes. Brad grinned. The elevator doors closed.

* * *

><p>The moment the doors were closed, Lisbon shrugged out from under his arm. "Jeez, Jane – what the hell are you doing? You're getting me wet."<p>

His eyes caught hers; he didn't say a word, merely fixed her with his most devilish smile, and was rewarded when she blushed nearly crimson.

"Shut up."

He held up his hands – once again, the innocent man accused. "I didn't say anything. I can hardly be blamed if your dirty little mind makes such base leaps."

"How do you even know I made a base leap, unless you made it, too?"

"It's clear in your eyes. And that blush of yours is a dead giveaway. Really, Lisbon, you need to work on your poker face."

They reached the third floor, and the elevator doors opened. He was soggy and tired, but it was difficult to deny how grateful he was that Lisbon hadn't left him to enter the apartment alone.

"Would you like some dinner?" he asked, once they'd stepped into the corridor. If there was a trace of naked hope in his tone, he was too weary to be concerned.

She started to make an excuse, but stopped at the look on his face. Shrugged her small, sturdy Lisbon shoulders.

"Yeah, what the hell. I've gotta eat, right? But you're paying."

"Naturally."

They were nearly to the door when her gaze fell to the spot where the dollhouse had been left.

"I was thinking about your guard's story," she began, as he unlocked the door.

"Brad? And I thought _I _had trust issues. Brad's above board, Lisbon. I can guarantee it."

"Well, if that's true, then he sucks as police detail. How'd he even get the job?"

She began pacing the hallway, not bothering to wait for his response. The corridor was set up with surveillance cameras on either end focused on his door, to monitor his movements coming and going.

"According to your guy and the cops, they lost the camera feed around ten o'clock."

Jane confirmed the statement, having already gone over the details exhaustively with the police earlier that afternoon. He followed her to the camera at the farthest end of the narrow hallway.

The feed had stopped working at 10:22, and had been restored ten minutes later, with the dollhouse in place and not a soul in sight. Despite their conversation downstairs just moments before, he suspected that Brad – who had been writing, and thus hadn't noticed that the monitors had gone to snow – would be out of a job by the weekend.

Jane returned to unlock his door while Lisbon continued prowling the hallway. He already knew the reality of this: Ellie Jennings would have left nothing behind. No fingerprints, no matchbook with some obscure club's logo, no stray carpet fibers. Ellie Jennings had learned from the best, and Jane was certain he was about to pay for that education in spades.

"Are you going to loiter in the halls all night, or are you coming in?" he asked, calling over his shoulder as he opened the door. "I'm hungry. What are you in the mood – "

He flipped on the light switch just inside his doorway, and was rendered mute.

"Jane? You all right?" He heard Lisbon's footsteps behind him, but couldn't take his eyes from the sight inside his apartment.

"Whoa," she said, the moment she'd crossed the threshold. "Holy cripes, Jane – did you and Van Pelt buy out the whole furniture district or what?"

Jane tried to make a sound, but for once found himself incapable. Boxes of all shape and size were crowded inside the apartment, along with every piece of furniture he and Grace had selected – and some he was certain he'd never so much as set eyes on.

"It didn't seem like this much while we were out."

"I bet." She shook her head, her dimple showing. "You're hopeless, you know that? I knew you should've asked me to go instead of Van Pelt."

"I'll just have to go through and return a few things."

"Ya think?"

She strode the rest of the way into the apartment without waiting for an invitation, wandering amongst the boxes and furniture, still encased in plastic.

"It's nice stuff. Van Pelt has good taste, at least."

His new bed had been pushed up against one wall, the headboard gleaming with an unattractive newness. He saw Lisbon's eye slide over it with a flicker of interest before she forced her gaze elsewhere. As soon as she saw the work area she had left the night before, however, it was clear that the bed had been effectively forgotten.

"Crap – I forgot to clean up last night. Sorry. I hate leaving a project half-finished."

"Don't worry about it."

She ignored him, picking up the rags and the bucket of now-cold water as though not doing so would kill her. Which, knowing Lisbon, it very well might.

Jane called for take-out while Lisbon concerned herself with the business of cleanup.

"I'm just gonna change out of these wet clothes."

She waved her hand at him, her back turned, still absorbed with her task. Oblivious. So typical – five minutes ago, she was exhausted. Now, apparently Lisbon had gotten her second wind.

He returned a few minutes later in jeans and a t-shirt – which felt odd, in Lisbon's presence – to find his favorite secret agent curled up at one end of his new sofa, her legs curled beneath her, her head pillowed on her arms. Eyes closed. He took a moment to study her, before announcing his presence. He found that he had grown oddly fond of her size – her delicacy pleased his sense of irony, given her penchant for launching herself at criminals with such alarming fervor.

She wasn't anything like anyone he'd ever been attracted to before, really. Certainly nothing like Angela. The train of thought surprised him – he and Lisbon had always shared a certain rapport, a bit of harmless flirting. He hadn't really thought of it in terms of being _attracted_. But standing there watching her, he realized that that was exactly what was happening… It had been so long that it felt like a phantom pain, the stirring of a part of him he'd almost believed had died with Angie.

The buzzer sounded for the front door, waking her.

"That'll be the food," he said, feeling unaccountably flustered. "I'll buzz them in."

She nodded. Blinked twice, as though disoriented at the sight of him, but made no reply. It wasn't until they had dinner in front of them, both settled on an end of his new couch, that she said anything at all.

"It's weird seeing you in normal people clothes," she said.

He raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly around his curry. "I don't usually wear normal people clothes?"

"Jane, you wear a three-piece-suit to the ball field. And the casino. And… Everywhere. The only times I've seen you when you _weren't_ wearing a three-piece-suit, you were wearing a tux. Jeans just seem so… Not you."

"My father was very much a believer in the theory that the clothes make the man… Or, they at least inform the way that others perceive that man."

"So the suits are a costume?" She'd devoured two samosas and was now clearly eying his. He surrendered it without a fight.

He shrugged. "If you want to call it that. Why won't you tell me about your brother?"

She stopped eating. Studied him thoughtfully. The thing he found interesting about Lisbon was that, as guarded as she was, he could track her every thought when she was considering something. He waited patiently, watching the thoughts flit across her face. Finally, she chewed her lip for a moment before she sighed.

"He didn't have it so easy, growing up."

He eyed the chicken korma he'd ordered for her until she offered him the bowl, and he spooned a bit onto his plate.

"From what little I know of your childhood, it doesn't sound like any of you had it particularly easy," he said, doing his best to sound casual.

"Yeah, but Tommy was different. At least with the rest of us, we had a few good years before my mom died, y'know? But Tommy was too little – all he ever knew was the bad stuff. I did my best, but I'm not exactly mother material."

"You were twelve years old, Lisbon – no one's mother material at twelve years old."

The words were a mistake – he knew it the moment they were out of his mouth.

"Whatever," she shrugged. Well, clearly that conversation was over. "I don't really want to talk about it. Why don't you tell me what that little stunt on the pier was all about instead."

He flashed an innocent smile. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yeah, right. I know you, Jane. You don't lose a bet unless you have a damned good reason. So… What are you up to?"

"Really, Lisbon – it just breaks my heart, the way you refuse to trust me."

She didn't say a word, though he noted that she was still smiling. They continued eating in companionable silence for several more minutes before he realized that he would eventually have to fill her in on his plan. Or, at the very least, give her an opportunity to change his mind.

"I need to ask you for something."

She gave him her patented Suspicious Lisbon pout. "What?"

"You're not going to like it."

"I'm shocked. What do you want, Jane?"

He set aside his plate and looked at her evenly. "I need to speak with Kristina Frye."

To his great surprise, she merely smiled. "I was wondering when you'd get around to that."

All right, so she wasn't _completely _predictable.

"You did?"

"Yeah, of course. I called today – you've got a meeting scheduled for Friday. That was the soonest they could get you in."

"You're serious."

"Yes, Jane – I'm serious. She's the one living person we know who actually spent time with Red John. Maybe you'll be able to get through to her this time – and if you can, maybe she'll be able to tell you something about Ellie Jennings."

He considered this for a moment. This was so much easier than he'd anticipated – honestly, he'd been gearing up for a fight. Or, at the very least, a considerable amount of wheedling and cajoling, before she ultimately refused him and he was forced to go ahead with his own plan.

"Did you tell anyone?"

She hesitated. For a moment, there was a shade of vulnerability to her eyes – a rare thing for Lisbon. She looked away, shifting in her seat.

"No – this one's off the books. Since O'Laughlin…"

"You don't know who to trust any longer," he finished for her.

"Something like that, yeah."

"Well, I appreciate you trusting me."

She hardened once more, the vulnerability falling away in an instant. "That's not what this is. I'll be there, Jane – every step of the way, if you try to pull any crap."

He smiled. Let his eyes linger on hers, until the gaze seemed to hold something he wasn't certain he would ever be prepared to voice.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Teresa."

They'd just gotten through dinner and another oddly charged silence when Lisbon's cell phone rang, a little past seven o'clock that evening. She glanced at the incoming number and sighed.

"I have to take this – I'm just gonna get going."

He nodded, standing by as she answered.

"I thought you lost your phone privileges," she said into the phone, without so much as a 'Hello.'

Jane smiled, not at all surprised that Lisbon's big sister voice was the same one he'd heard countless times himself. He opened the door for her, watching with interest as her face changed.

"Dammit, Tommy – I told you. This is it. This is your last chance. You either stay there for another ten days, or you go to jail."

She raised a hand as an awkward goodbye wave, her face flushed at the realization that Jane was listening to the conversation. She lowered her voice as she walked out the door.

"This _is _the string I pulled, Tom – I don't have any others. This is it."

Jane watched her walk down the hall, an unmistakable weight settling on her thin shoulders. He was left alone to contemplate his impending visit with Kristina Frye, the mysterious dollhouse now being analyzed by the CBI, and – almost as unsettling – a disturbing shift in his relationship with Lisbon.

If nothing else, it promised to be an interesting week.

_TBC_

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	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter Nine_

That night, another dollhouse was delivered to the CBI – this one, an exact replica of one of Red John's crime scenes prior to the murder of Jane's family. Over the course of the next three days, two more replicas were found in seemingly random locales around the city. The main difference in these scenes versus the one of the Jane home was that they seemed to be taken exactly from crime scene photos – as though Ellie Jennings had built the entire macabre display based on a police file.

How she had gotten access to that police file was something Jane was intent on discovering.

The replicas were exact in every respect that Jane could see; he did not find another copy of _Frankenstein _planted strategically amongst the carnage. No fingerprints. No fibers. No evidence of any kind.

Ellie Jennings truly might as well have been a ghost.

On Friday, Lisbon and Jane drove out to the private care facility where Kristina Frye had been held since her abduction months earlier. With rolling grounds and a topnotch staff, it was much like the one Jane had stayed in after his own breakdown. Memories of that experience haunted him as he walked the sterile halls, avoiding the vacant stares of the patients they passed.

Lisbon had seemingly come to terms with Red John's death at Jane's hand, and they were working well together once more. This morning, however, they were both silent – Jane lost in thoughts of Red John and Ellie Jennings and, now, Kirstina Frye. Though he knew intellectually that he was not the one responsible for Kristina's current state, he couldn't help but wonder if she might have fared differently had they never crossed paths.

Inside the facility, they waited in an attractively decorated visitor's area with Schumann's Concerto in A Minor playing quietly through speakers mounted at the corners of the room. It was an odd choice, musically speaking – while Jane appreciated the poetry of listening to the compositions of a madman while waiting in a madhouse, he would have preferred something a bit less effusive.

"I won't be long," he said. Lisbon looked profoundly uncomfortable, sitting there with her back straight and her eyes roaming.

"Don't do anything that'll get me in trouble, all right?" she whispered, glancing at an orderly walking by with an elderly woman at his side.

"Lisbon, please – I'll be five minutes. Ten, at most."

"That doesn't exactly ease my mind."

A young orderly came by before she could pursue the matter, nodding toward the long corridor. "Are you ready?"

"Of course. Back in a few, Lisbon."

When they were alone in the hallway, the orderly surveyed him with some interest.

"Ms. Frye was a famous psychic – that's what we heard. Nobody really comes to visit her now, though. Is that how you knew her?"

_Knew. _Past tense. Jane supposed it was appropriate; since Kristina believed herself to be dead already, why wouldn't the rest of the world treat her that way?

"Yes," he said briefly. The orderly waited for him to elaborate; he did not.

"She's easier than most of the patients here, at least. And she's got a nice face – I bet she was a nice lady, before whatever happened to her. I wouldn't expect much of a conversation if I were you, though."

Jane nodded his understanding.

When they reached her door, it was standing open. The orderly paused at the threshold.

"Just leave the door open while you're in there, if you don't mind. I know you've got clearance and all, but we have rules about male visitors with female patients… You understand."

"Of course," Jane agreed.

"If you need anything at all, there's a call button in every room. The big red one is for emergencies – I don't expect you'll need that."

Jane nodded again, beginning to lose patience.

"You want me to go in with you?" the man asked.

"No – this is a delicate matter, I'd prefer to speak with her alone, if it's all right. Security issues."

The orderly's eyes went wide. "Yeah – sure, whatever. Well… I'll just be down the hall if you need me."

Jane didn't expect that he would have any such need.

* * *

><p>Kristina was seated in a wheelchair. Gone was the ethereal peace he had witnessed when he had spoken with her last. Now, she was simply… vacant.<p>

A deep melancholy washed over him at the thought of what she had been – the arguments they had had; the feel of her lips on his cheek after their disastrous date; her conviction in his "gift." For a moment, the memories stopped him where he stood.

She sat gazing out a wide picture window, out onto the gardens below. This was nothing like the room in which Jane had been kept – Kristina was perceived as no danger to herself, so there was no need for the precautions that had been necessary after Jane's break with reality.

"Kristina – It's me, Jane," he said, still standing in her doorway.

Predictably enough, there was no response. He looked out into the hallway and, once he was certain the orderly was gone, closed the door. He frowned at the lack of locks on the inside of the door, and instead took a wooden chair and wedged it beneath the doorknob. Then, he set to work.

He went into the room, taking stock as he did so. So, this was the accumulation of Kristina Frye's riches now: a private suite in a mental ward, a first-class view of the gardens and a parade of lunatics strolling past her window. He came 'round until he was standing directly in her line of vision, and crouched so that he was eye level with her.

"Kristina," he repeated. "I need your help."

Not so much as a flicker of recognition; not even a hint of dilation to her pupils. He thought back to their date. That night, her pupils had been so large they'd nearly crowded out the blue of her irises, leaving him no doubt as to her interest in him. There had been no question in his mind at the time that there would be no second date, but he hadn't imagined the circumstances that would actually make such a thing an impossibility.

In the time since he had seen her last, Kristina had changed into someone virtually unrecognizable. Her lovely curls had been cropped short. An afghan was draped around her now-skeletal shoulders, her pleasingly feminine curves a mere memory. She looked like the corpse she imagined herself to be.

Jane cast a furtive glance toward the door, reassuring himself that he hadn't been discovered yet. He reached into the satchel that he carried. His stomach twisted unpleasantly as he retrieved three candles, and set them at the center of the table in Kristina's small dining area. Then, he wheeled her from the window to the table.

At sight of the flickering candlelight, Jane saw the first glimmer of life behind her eyes.

"I call on the spirits. I ask for the presence of the departed soul of Kristina Frye," he said softly, trying to inject confidence into his tone. "Kristina, can you hear me?"

A minute passed, then two. Kristina wet her lips before she spoke.

"I can hear you." Her voice came out rough, though her face was suddenly, eerily reanimated. "It's lovely to speak with you again, Patrick."

Jane attempted a smile that he expected fell short.

"Yes – you too, Kristina. I don't have much time, though." He glanced at the barricaded door again. "I wanted to talk to you about Red John."

"Red John has passed from the earthly plane," she said immediately. She looked troubled, a shadow passing over her face, the beatific smile vanishing in an instant.

"You heard about that?"

"His spirit is very restless. He's tried to contact me, but we have yet to meet."

"Conflicting schedules, I suppose," he said dryly. To his great surprise, she laughed. The shadow vanished.

"Oh, Patrick. Always the skeptic. I wish you would allow yourself to believe. It's beautiful where we are, you know. Charlotte loves it here. She spends all day in the surf – like a beautiful little fish."

He went still. Wet his lips, forcing himself to remain calm.

"Has Red John told you anything about Ellie?"

He was met with dead silence. When she finally spoke again, Kristina looked directly into his eyes and smiled. His stomach dropped; the hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. Two of the three candles flickered, and went out. This smile was not hers. It was an oily thing – one Jane had seen once before, innocuous and somehow simultaneously terrifying.

"Still searching, Patrick? You've got quite the obsession – I would have thought putting three bullets in my gut would have slaked your thirst for revenge."

Her usually lilting voice was a tone lower, a bizarre tenor underlying it. Jane swallowed past the rushing in his ears.

"Tell me who Ellie Jennings is. What does she want with me?"

The eerie smile widened on Kristina's face, turning her to something monstrous.

"What happened to that woman you were going to love, once I was gone? The children you'd have, to replace that beautiful little girl whose blood I spilled?"

Jane blinked past the pain of the words. "Who is Ellie Jennings? What does she want?"

Kristina laughed, the echo of a madman in her voice. "She just wants to play. You won't be enough for her, though – I never was. She'll need to make more of you."

Jane could hear footsteps down the hall, and Lisbon's voice speaking loudly to an attendant – trying to warn him, no doubt.

"Where can I find her? What is she to you?"

"She was my muse," she said, slowly. "My canvas. My creation, and my creator. _Ma souer de l'ame_."

Someone knocked on the door roughly, shouting from outside. The monster vanished from the room in an instant, leaving the empty shell of Kristina Frye behind. The last of the three candles went out.

Jane tried reaching Kristina again, but it was no use. She stared straight ahead, her eyes once more vacant. He quickly removed the chair from the door just before two orderlies attempted to break it down, Lisbon standing beside them with a very put-upon expression.

"What the hell is – "

"Thank you," Jane said, shaking the orderly's hand. "Your country thanks you. This has been very helpful."

Before anyone could question any further, Jane grabbed Lisbon by the elbow and ushered her out the door, a cold dread still lingering in his chest.

* * *

><p>When they returned to the CBI, the bullpen was empty but for Cho, who was doing his best to look busy – though Jane happened to know that he was hiding a Sudoku puzzle beneath that stack of files with which he seemed to be so absorbed. He glanced up when Jane and Lisbon entered the room.<p>

"How'd it go?"

Jane shrugged. "As well as can be expected, considering…"

"Your witness is nuts?" Cho finished for him, his face characteristically impassive, his voice without inflection.

"Nice, Cho," Lisbon grimaced. "Very sensitive. Where are Rigsby and Van Pelt?"

"Lunch," Cho said.

Jane chuckled.

"What's funny about lunch?" Lisbon asked.

"Nothing. But I sincerely doubt those two are out dining anywhere."

Lisbon got that mad hornet look he so enjoyed. "Shut up."

"I will not," he said, doing his best to look offended rather than amused. "If you want to bury your head in the sand, that's fine… But you'd have to be blind not to have noticed – "

"Seriously, Jane, one more word. Just… Shush. I have _not _noticed, as a matter of fact. And I'm gonna _keep _not noticing – I don't care if they're doing it in the parking lot at this very moment. As long as they keep it out of the office – "

"Yeah, right," Cho said. "'Cause those two are masters at the art of deception."

Jane grinned. "Oh, come now – surely after the disaster with O'Laughlin, you see how unwise it is to stand in the way of – "

"Rigsby," Cho said. "Van Pelt." He cast a significant glance toward Jane just as the couple in question strolled in.

"Hey." Rigsby paused, no doubt noting the sudden silence that had fallen over the room at his entrance. "Did we get a case?"

"You have a – " Jane gestured at the agent's collar, which had a smudge of russet lipstick at one edge.

Rigsby flushed. "Oh – uh, thanks, man." He looked at Lisbon, and flushed even more deeply. "I'm just gonna go to the bathroom and, uh…"

Lisbon did a bit of a growl under her breath and headed for her office without further comment.

"Wow. She's in a bad mood," Grace said. She looked at Jane for elaboration, but he had already set his sights on the sofa in anticipation of a well-earned afternoon nap.

* * *

><p>He had barely settled in before Brett Partridge appeared, making a beeline for Lisbon's office. Jane followed immediately.<p>

"I need to talk to Lisbon," Partridge said, when Jane fell into line behind him at her door.

"You got the DNA results on the blood," Jane guessed.

"That's not your business."

"Of course it's my business, you macabre little twerp – "

Lisbon opened the door before the disagreement devolved into fisticuffs – which was precisely why Jane had initiated the argument directly outside her door in the first place.

"What the hell is the problem?"

Jane raised his hands and backed away. "Partridge got his feathers ruffled. Not my doing."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Lisbon said. She stepped out of the way, motioning them both into her office.

"If it's all the same to you, I would prefer not to do this with him here," Partridge said, affecting a maddeningly disdainful air.

"Oh, can it," Lisbon said. Jane squelched a grin. Sometimes, he could just kiss that woman. He plopped himself on her couch, with no intention of moving. "What've you got?"

"We've got the blood typing done from the smiley faces in the first two miniatures – the others haven't come back yet."

"And?" Lisbon prompted him.

The forensics expert puffed himself up a bit, his eyebrow arched dramatically. "And…"

He opened the file, placed it on the desk, and pushed it toward Lisbon. She looked at it in confusion for a moment, until Partridge leaned over and pointed out whatever she was supposed to be looking at.

There was a long silence, during which Jane was tempted to leap off the couch and throttle someone. Then:

"You're sure?"

"Positive." The ghoul was practically beaming.

"Lisbon, who – "

Jane stopped at the look on Lisbon's face. Clenched his fists, forcing his expression to remain impassive while in the presence of Brett Partridge.

"My wife?" he guessed.

She shook her head, her eyes sliding from his. His blood ran cold. "Charlotte?" he asked, his voice so soft it could hardly be heard.

"We're gonna get this lunatic, Jane," Lisbon said, nearly as quiet as he. "I swear – whoever is doing this, I'll put whoever it takes on this. They won't get away with this."

He took a moment to gather his wits, forcing strength into his voice. "But that's just on the first house," he guessed. "The blood from the second one – it belongs to the victim from that scene, yeah? Alice Prescott?"

"Red John must have taken blood samples from the crime scenes," Partridge said. He was smiling as he continued, clearly freshly dazzled by Red John's tricks. "I guess he must've given them to this Ellie person for posterity or something. Pretty twisted."

Jane stood.

"Thank you, Brett – you can go," Lisbon said hurriedly. She got up from her desk and stood between the two men, as though expecting some physical altercation. Jane merely reached out his hand, though.

"May I see the files?" he asked.

Partridge hesitated, but reconsidered at the look on Lisbon's face. Jane took the file and went back to the couch, shaken by the presence of his daughter's name in a brand new police report after all this time. It seemed to him in that moment that Red John had never been more alive – and his own wounds never fresher.

_TBC_

* * *

><p><strong><em>I know it's been a bit of a slow build, but things are about to get messy for Jane &amp; Co. Stay tuned for Wednesday's update, when Ellie's macabre miniatures take a deadly turn. And if you haven't checked out my website and free monthly magazine, you can do so at www[dot]bwfanficezine[dot]com. Monthly fanfic contests, interviews, original fiction, plus daily fanvids and fanfic on the website... An homage to fan culture, in all its forms. Hope to see you there!<em>**


	10. Chapter 10

_**Sorry for being a little late in the day with this, but here's the next chapter, as promised. And I don't know if you folks are into fanvids at all, but I posted two of my fave Mentalist vids at the website today. Just click on the Daily Fanvid banner and you'll find them there, at www[dot]bwfanficezine[dot]com. Enjoy!**  
><em>

_Chapter Ten_

After work that evening, Jane invited the team over for dinner at his place – ostensibly to discuss his encounter with Kristina Frye, though secretly he was also hoping that they would pitch in to get a bit more of his apartment done. Otherwise, he was convinced he would spend the rest of his days on his new sofa in a cordoned-off area in the corner, his refrigerator still in a box in the hallway.

They ordered pizza. Rigsby brought beer. Everyone had gone home and changed into weekend attired, but for Jane – who didn't much care for weekend attire in the presence of the entire team.

At Lisbon's request, they had included only the core group – Rigsby, Van Pelt, and Cho. Jane might have thought her paranoid, if he hadn't been convinced himself that agents at the highest levels of the CBI and California government had been – and still were – somehow involved with Red John.

Once they were seated around his newly assembled (thanks to Lisbon and Van Pelt, who were predictably meticulous about the process) dining room table, Grace took out pen and paper.

All eyes turned toward Jane.

"So?" Grace asked.

Jane hesitated, not particularly looking forward to recounting the bizarre events that had transpired behind closed doors with Kristina.

"You hypnotized her…" Lisbon prompted him.

"Yes. Exactly." He folded his hands in front of himself at the table.

"And I guess it must've worked," Rigsby said.

"It did," Jane confirmed. "It got a little… weird, though."

"Weirder than a live woman thinking she was a spirit you were contacting from beyond the grave?" Cho asked.

"Strangely enough, yes."

Grace looked at him, her eyes wide. "A little weird how?" Her pen was poised, her body tense.

"You're going to make something of it, when in fact there's absolutely nothing _to _make of it," Jane said. Van Pelt looked unconvinced. Understandable. Hell, _he _was unconvinced.

"So, what happened?" Rigsby asked. He'd just devoured nearly half a pizza, but was now eying Jane's piece as though he hadn't eaten for days. Jane pushed it toward him.

"A few minutes into the trance, Kristina Frye stopped speaking as Kristina Frye," he finally admitted.

"What do you mean she stopped speaking as Kristina?" Lisbon asked.

"I mean… Kristina Frye left the building. So to speak."

"Who started talking in her place?" Van Pelt asked. She was gripping her pen so tightly it looked as though it might snap.

Jane wet his lips. His skin crawled at the memory of that serpentine smile.

"Red John," he said grimly. He held up his hand when everyone began speaking at once.

"I've seen things like this before, of course, though typically in the context of something like multiple personality disorder. Not that that's what this is. I believe this was no more than the power of suggestion."

"Suggested by who?" Van Pelt asked. She shivered, her forehead furrowed, lips tight. "This is the creepiest thing I've ever heard of. What did he say to you?"

Jane skipped the taunting remarks about his wife and child, and went straight to what he perceived as the most significant portion of the message.

"I asked who Ellie was. Kristina said – and I quote – 'My muse. My canvas. Creator and creation. _Ma soeur de l'ame.'_"

Grace hastily wrote down the words.

"What's that last part supposed to mean?" Rigsby asked.

"Sister of my soul," Cho answered immediately.

"How do you think that ties in with the whole _Frankenstein _thing?" Lisbon asked.

"What Frankenstein thing?" Rigsby demanded.

Jane shot a glare at Lisbon, but she shrugged it off. "Sorry – if we're all in this, we should all have the same information."

She was right, of course. Still, it rankled a bit to have all the facts laid out so baldly. Jane stood and retrieved the miniature _Frankenstein _volume from among the information he'd been gathering.

"Jane found that in the first dollhouse – he says it wasn't in the original scene," Lisbon said.

"And you think Jennings is sending a message?" Cho asked. He picked up the tiny book, examining it thoughtfully.

"I don't think she chose it randomly," Jane said.

Cho nodded, obviously deep in thought.

"So, you think this Ellie Jennings might actually be Red John's sister?" Rigsby asked.

"That's too literal," Cho said, before Jane had an opportunity to say the same. "In the book, Elizabeth Lavenza is a girl taken in by the Frankensteins – she's raised as a member of the family, then marries Victor. Uh – Dr. Frankenstein," he explained to the others, at the blank faces that stared back at him.

"Dude – how do you know so much about Frankenstein?" Rigsby asked.

"It's _Frankenstein,_" Cho said simply, as though the mere title should explain everything. "Everyone's read _Frankenstein_. It's not like we're talking Dostoevsky here."

"But Elizabeth is killed by the monster," Jane interrupted, before they got any farther off-topic.

Cho considered this, the others looking on. "So, in Ellie Jennings' version, who's the monster?"

"That's what we haven't figured out yet," Lisbon said. When Jane didn't say anything, she looked at him in surprise. "Or have we?"

"I'm quite certain Ellie views Red John as Dr. Frankenstein," he said.

"So that would make her Elizabeth," Cho quickly surmised. "Or else Justine – the martyr," he explained.

"No," Jane said definitively. "She's no martyr. But Elizabeth would make sense, I think. Victor's muse."

Rigsby sighed. "Well, that's great – but what's it gotta do with what's going on? And what's her next move? I mean, this stuff is creepy, don't get me wrong, but so far has she actually broken any laws? Other than having a really crappy sense of humor? Which, last time I checked, wasn't illegal."

"He's right," Grace said thoughtfully. "So far, there hasn't been any real crime. As long as we're still thinking Red John was the one who did the actual murders…?"

"We have no evidence that would necessitate changing that theory," Lisbon said. She sat with one foot up in the chair, her arm wrapped around a jean-clad knee, hair up in a ponytail. With her oversized sweatshirt, she looked more like a high school student than a senior agent with the CBI. Had it not been for their disturbing conversation, Jane would have been charmed by the paradox.

"She'll escalate fast," Cho predicted. Jane had been thinking the same thing. "Something like this – she's just laying the groundwork. But she's obviously got something up her sleeve."

Rigsby's face clouded, and Jane caught the concerned glance he directed at Grace. "You think the team's in danger?"

"I would definitely exercise caution," Jane said. He thought of the other words Kristina had said, when she was still 'channeling' Red John. _She'll need to make more of you. _

What the devil did _that _mean?

"You had them increase security around Kristina?" Jane asked Lisbon.

"They've got a couple guards on her, and they've increased security on her floor and around the facility."

The information didn't go far in reassuring him, but the fact of the matter was, he didn't know what else he could do – short of going there and attempting to protect her himself. He thought back to the look on Kristina's face when she had spoken of his daughter, and suppressed the urge to physically shake himself to clear the memory. No – it might be selfish, but for the moment, he would let the police and private security protect Kristina Frye.

God help him, he didn't want to be anywhere near her.

"So, what else did you notice while you were talking to Red John?" Grace asked. "Did he say anything else?"

"It wasn't a 'he,' Grace," Jane said. "I told you – this was merely the power of suggestion."

"But suggested by whom, exactly?" Lisbon repeated Grace's earlier question. Her face went dark once she recognized his implication. "You think Ellie Jennings has been there? That she's visited Kristina?"

"At least once," Jane confirmed. "I managed to get a copy of Kristina's file – " he didn't bother to say how, exactly, he'd gotten it – "and she's only received a handful of visitors, all of whom were easily confirmed as legitimate. But it would be a simple task to sneak in. Or Ellie may have posed as an employee at the hospital."

There was a moment of silence, as this information sank in to the rest of the group.

"What else did she say?" Grace asked. "Did she say why Ellie's doing this? What her goal is in this whole thing? I mean – what's the point of all this… torture, and cruelty? It's inhuman."

The strain was clear in her voice, her rigid posture, her furrowed brow. Jane reminded himself once again that, of all of them, Van Pelt was the only one without intimate knowledge of the darker side of life. She stood abruptly and walked across the apartment to the bank of windows. Rigsby sat, clearly wanting to go to her, until Lisbon nodded her head in Grace's direction.

"Go," she said.

"Thanks, boss," he whispered.

And then there were three.

"So," Cho said, picking up where Grace had left off. "Anything else you can tell us?"

"There wasn't much beyond that," Jane said. He turned to Lisbon. "What about you? You came in the room at the end there – did you notice anything? Any peculiar smells, for example?"

She quirked an eyebrow at that. "_Smells_? I was in there for like two seconds, Jane, and the only thing I smelled was freshly snuffed candles and incense."

He looked up sharply. "Incense? What kind?"

"I don't know, Jane – the smelly incense kind. Sandalwood, I think. Don't tell me you didn't – "

She stopped, as a look of sudden comprehension crossed her face. They locked eyes for a moment, Lisbon's narrowed with a realization Jane had been hoping to keep to himself for a bit longer.

"Wait a minute. You mean to tell me you can't – " she began.

"Possibly justify keeping everyone any longer on a Friday night," he interrupted, leaping to his feet so abruptly that he nearly toppled his chair. "You're right, Lisbon. This is important, of course, but there's no need for it to take over everyone's weekend."

Cho stared at him in confusion, Rigsby and Van Pelt echoing the expression from across the apartment.

"It's not even eight o'clock," Rigsby said, as he and Grace returned to the table.

"I didn't have any other plans," Grace agreed. She still looked shaken, but had clearly pulled herself together and was prepared to forge ahead.

"I did," Cho said. All eyes turned to him. He shrugged. "It's Friday night. The rest of you might be okay sitting around talking monsters and undead dollhouses. Elise and I want to catch a movie."

He put on his jacket, which mercifully led to Rigsby and Van Pelt doing the same. Lisbon, however, gave no indication that she had any intention of leaving.

Sure enough, once everyone had gone – promising to exercise extra caution over the course of the next two days – Lisbon remained behind, studying Jane with a set jaw.

"Couldn't wait to get me alone, eh, Lisbon?"

"Spare me. What the hell's going on, Jane?"

"You'll need to be more specific," he said. "Do you mean in a universal sense?"

"I mean, the other day with you having Rigsby play bloodhound with the dollhouse. And Van Pelt told me you had her nosing around a crime scene – literally – because you told her your allergies were bothering you."

"Well, they were."

"I've known you seven years. Since when have you had allergies?"

"Oh… Adult onset, I expect. Environmentally caused. It's dreadful the things we're doing to the planet."

"Jane." She took a step toward him, clearly intending bodily harm. He retreated, hands held high.

"Fine, fine – have it your way. But before I tell you…" He stood with the dining room table between them, amused despite himself at the wrinkle in Lisbon's forehead. "…What's it worth to you?" he asked, prepared to flee or duck, depending on the veracity of her response.

"What's it…?" she repeated in amazement. "Are you kidding me? We're talking about – hell, I don't even _know _what we're talking about, because you won't tell me. But if there's something wrong with you…"

"There's not," he said quickly.

She didn't look convinced. "Are you sure? How do you even know? I mean… What are we talking about here? Is it only your sense of smell or – "

"And I repeat," he said, more calmly now, "What's it worth to you, Lisbon? If I agree to tell you all about my recent olfactory challenges, what do I get in return?"

"Well, for starters, I _might _not kick your ass, or report this to Hightower or Bertram – "

He arched an eyebrow, affecting an utterly unruffled air. Lisbon glowered for a moment before she showed the first hint of surrender.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice thick with suspicion.

"Oh, calm down – I'm not out for your maidenhead, Lisbon. Honestly."

"Well, that's good, because I'm pretty sure that ship left the dock a while ago," she said dryly, though there was a spark of humor in her eyes now.

"I merely want information," he said. The suspicion returned to her eyes. It occurred to him that he probably would have been better off asking for sex.

It was the first time they'd been alone in the apartment together since her phone call from Tommy – something she had, as yet, refused to talk to him about. Though that evening Jane had admitted to himself that there was a growing… awareness, for lack of a better term, between the two of them, he had no intention of doing anything about that awareness. He doubted that Lisbon had even come so far as to admit there might be an attraction, so it seemed to him that things were at a suitable stalemate. Mutual attraction, mutual denial of that attraction.

Perfectly normal, perfectly healthy, he thought wryly.

But just because he wasn't interested in pursuing a romantic entanglement didn't mean he was content to let their friendship grow stale. And if she thought she could continue to simply shut him out of her life, she had another thing coming.

"What kind of information?" she asked.

"About you. Your childhood. Tommy. I just want a little insight – that's all. I tell you things all the time… You have a file detailing my darkest days, for heaven's sake. It only seems fair."

Her brow furrowed more deeply as she chewed her lip, considering the deal.

"And you'll tell me everything I want to know, about whatever's going on with you since Red John died. Everything about Ellie Jennings. Whatever it is that happened in that room with Kristina, that you're holding back."

"Everything," he agreed. The fact that he had no intention of giving her _all _the details did not give him pause; there was no doubt in his mind that Lisbon would likewise withhold whatever information she was uncomfortable sharing.

She huffed and glowered a bit more before she finally nodded.

"Fine. One question – whatever you want."

"That's hardly what I had in mind," he said in dismay. "Three questions."

"Two," she countered.

They agreed.

* * *

><p>While Lisbon would have no doubt preferred diving in then and there to get it over with, Jane insisted on cleaning up and settling in before they began their conversation. While he did the dishes, Lisbon commenced spackling his walls – which sounded like a euphemism if ever he'd heard one, but in this case most decidedly was not.<p>

Once he was finished, he changed into jeans and t-shirt – noting that he was still a bit uncomfortable in casual wear around Lisbon, but determined to take that step regardless. At the look in her eye and the faint smile that touched her lips when he emerged, barefoot in t-shirt and jeans, he decided he'd made the right decision. He poured a glass of wine for each of them and brought it to the sofa.

The sun had gone down, casting long shadows throughout the apartment. Lisbon continued to work while he sat and watched, studying her speculatively.

"So – shoot," she said over her shoulder. "What do you want to know?"

He squelched a smile. God, the woman was exhausting sometimes. "You're really going to continue working while we have this conversation?"

"Your apartment's not gonna renovate itself, Jane. I might as well get some work done here."

Had he not known her better, he might have been frustrated. The tension in her shoulders and the weight in her eyes convinced him to leave it alone – as it was, it was clear that she was terrified at the prospect of whatever this conversation might hold.

"So, I'll just shout my questions across the room, then?"

"Unless you want to help."

He stretched out on the couch and took a sip of merlot. "No, no. This will do. Two questions, right?"

She nodded, by now spackling with such fervor that Jane wasn't certain his walls would survive the night.

"How much trouble is Tommy in?"

She tensed for a moment, then drew a deep breath and turned to face him. "He got a DUI last month. Second time in six months. I pulled a few strings, managed to get the judge to agree to treatment instead of jail time…"

"But he doesn't want to stay in treatment."

She laughed humorlessly. "He doesn't think he has a problem. Convinced it's everybody else."

"Methamphetamines?" he guessed.

She hesitated. "Is that your second question?"

All right, now he had to admit to a touch of frustration. "No."

She relented before he could continue, and came over to sit on the arm of the sofa – as far from him as possible, while still remaining on the same piece of furniture.

"He went to vocational school to be an electrician. Did well, too – he's good at it. He could fix just about anything when we were kids. But I didn't have the money to help out with tuition, so he started looking around for a way to make the cash."

"And started making meth."

"And using." She stared at the floor. "It's horrible stuff, you know? What it does to the body… I mean, it's basically poison." She shrugged. "But he can't kick it – I've tried everything I can think of. My other brothers gave up on him a long time ago."

But not St Teresa, Jane thought sadly, still studying her. The patron saint of lost causes.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked softly.

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes searching his. It seemed to him that she was looking for something – some sign of insincerity or malice. When she didn't find it, she smiled her lopsided, winning smile.

"Nah. It's my problem, I can handle it. I'll figure something out, right?"

Before he could reply, she moved from the arm of the sofa to the sofa itself, curling her legs beneath her as she turned to face him. She helped herself to the glass of wine he'd poured for her. All around them, they were surrounded by boxes and odd bits of furniture, paint cans and plastic wrapping. The sofa and coffee table, wine and a couple of flickering candles Jane had put out at the last moment, seemed like an oasis in the midst of the chaos.

She waited until he met her eye before she spoke.

"So, my turn. What's going on with your nose?"

He grinned despite himself at her phrasing. "Ah yes… My nose." He considered the question for a moment. "My nose no longer knows."

"Your nose no longer smells."

He nodded. "That too."

"Since when?"

"A few days after I began serving my time."

"Before or after you were stabbed?"

"This seems like a lot more than two questions," he noted amiably, taking another sip of wine.

"That wasn't the deal. You get two questions. I get however many I need to figure this thing out. Before or after you were stabbed?" she repeated.

"Before."

"Have you told a doctor? This could be a sign of something serious…"

"It's not," he said. "They gave me a complete checkup while I was in the infirmary. There's nothing wrong with me."

"Except you can't smell anything."

"Or taste much," he amended.

She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? This doesn't worry you at all – not being able to smell anything, not even being able to taste your tea? You don't see that as a reason to be concerned?"

This time, he didn't respond. They sat in silence for another few seconds, lost in thought, before he stood abruptly, wine in hand, and headed for the wall she'd been assaulting earlier.

"Teach me how to do whatever you were doing," he said suddenly. The wine was getting to him, just a bit – a pleasantly light feeling that would get heavier in time, he knew. Best take advantage of it while it lasted.

"Spackling." There was laughter in her voice. "It's not exactly rocket science, Jane. You see a hole, put some goop on the putty knife, and slap it in there."

Nevertheless, she set her wine down, stood, and joined him. Her arm was warm against his as they stood together, she demonstrating while he watched the sure, steady way that she worked. She had strong hands, but still pleasingly feminine. He liked Lisbon's hands.

"What was your favorite game as a child?" he asked, as she continued to work. She glanced at him for a moment, rolling her eyes.

"Is _that _your second question?"

"Yep."

"Guess."

It wasn't technically a condition of their agreement, but the game intrigued him. He decided to go along. Abandoning the spackling before he'd really given it much effort, he returned to the sofa. The wall she was working on was nearly twice her height, and the light fell in pleasing ways on her arms as she worked. She'd removed her sweatshirt, wearing a flattering, blue cotton blouse that went nicely with her coloring. He'd always liked curvier women in the past - there'd been a time after Charlotte was born when Angela had been downright plump, and it hadn't bothered him a bit. Lisbon didn't have such obvious curves, but the jeans she was wearing certainly made good use of the ones she did have.

"Are you guessing or what?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Jane set his wine down, somewhat disturbed at his train of thought.

"Did you skip rope?"

She snorted at him. Lisbon was the only woman he'd ever known who could make a snort endearing.

"What do you think?"

"Right. How silly of me." He thought for a moment more, stretching his legs out on the coffee table. "Red Rover?"

"I don't even know what that is."

"No, I suppose not," he conceded. "Three brothers. Something more rough-and-tumble. Tag? Touch football?"

She paused for just a moment in her work. Ah – so that was it.

"Really? Football. But you're so small, Lisbon. And it logically follows that as a child you would have been that much smaller. What about when your mother was alive? Surely _she _didn't play touch football with you."

She paused with the putty knife once more. When she returned to her task, she put her shoulders into it a bit more, focusing all of her energy.

"So, perhaps touch football was your sport of choice later on, but what about when you were two, three, four years old?" The thought captivated him, thinking of his own experiences with a toddling daughter. What had Lisbon been like, before life taught her to erect all those fences?

"You were active, I bet? Hell on wheels, as they say." He straightened suddenly, triumphant. "I have it! Musical chairs. I've seen the way you – "

"Ow! Dammit."

She suddenly whipped her putty knife at the wall, one hand clutching the other. Jane could already see blood from where he was sitting, halfway across the room. She let loose with a litany of curses that would have made the heartiest sailor go crimson.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she bit out.

He did his best to conceal his amusement as he hurried to her side. Really, were there no lengths she wouldn't go to to avoid talking about herself? At sight of the steady stream of blood flowing from between her fingers, however, that amusement vanished.

"Good lord, woman, what did you do?"

He made an attempt to look at the injured hand, but she pulled away quickly. "It's nothing, Jane. The knife just slipped – no big deal."

"Let me look at it."

"You don't need to look at it. It's fine."

"Lisbon." He fixed her with his sternest stare. It must have hurt like the devil, because – to his great surprise – a moment later, she surrendered her hand.

She'd sliced the fleshy part of her thumb – deep enough to hurt like hell, but not likely to require stitches.

"Put some pressure on it, to staunch the bleeding." He placed her other hand over the injured one, pressing gently to demonstrate, and winced sympathetically when her brow creased at the pain. "Here – come sit down. I'll get something to clean it with."

She dutifully followed him to the sofa.

"Sit."

"Jane."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Lisbon – just sit, would you?"

She sat. He scrounged for a bit until he found a clean towel and the first aid kit that Grace had left for him his first day in the apartment. When he returned, Lisbon was looking a shade paler than usual, her freckles standing out in stark relief. He sat on the coffee table facing her, and took her hand once more.

"You don't look so good, Lisbon. I didn't know you got queasy at the sight of blood."

"I don't," she said shortly. "It just caught me by surprise, that's all. If you hadn't been badgering me…"

"Ah, yes. All my fault. 'Damn that Jane,'" he said, doing his best Lisbon impression.

He washed the blood away with a damp cloth. Once he had a better visual on the wound, he hedged at his initial assessment.

"Perhaps we should take you to the hospital."

She glanced at it, her color already returning. Shook her head. "For that? What are you, kidding? I told you, it just caught me by surprise."

"Well, at least let me put something on it and dress the wound."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself. But I told you – "

"Yes, I know. You're fine."

He finished cleaning the wound and put on a large Band Aid. "Charlie always insisted on rainbow Band Aids – she said the others didn't work."

"Who's Charlie?"

He'd been so absorbed in the task at hand that he'd forgotten himself – literally. He tensed. After a moment he wet his lips, anchoring himself with the feel of Lisbon's soft, strong hand in his own.

"My daughter."

She went still. It seemed for a moment that the whole world was between breaths, silence on all sides.

"I'm sorry. I've never heard you call her that."

"Angela didn't like it when I did." He met Lisbon's eye with a small smile. "But then, after a while, there was no going back – someone would call her Charlotte, and she'd barely acknowledge them. She was like that, though… Consumed with her play, oblivious to the world around her."

His chest constricted painfully. Everything had gotten so quiet. Night had fallen, a few random shouts and laughter in the street below. Lisbon tilted her head, her eyes never leaving his.

He looked away first. "I think you'll survive," he said, nodding toward her hand. It was a marvel, really – Lisbon's hand. So deceptively delicate. He lifted it and brushed his lips gently across the Band Aid. She flinched, blinking as she pulled her hand away.

"What're you doing?"

"It wasn't a come on, Lisbon," he said with an amused glint, the gravity of a moment before mercifully broken. "I was kissing it to make it better. It's standard protocol. Didn't anyone kiss your skinned knees when you were a child?"

She scoffed. "Yeah, right. Three brothers, remember? Nobody kissed much of anything around my house."

"Well, it helps," he said, pulling her hand back under the guise of inspecting his work. "Scientifically proven. Mark my words, that kiss probably just saved your hand."

"Well, then, I guess I should thank you."

For a few moments they merely sat, knees touching knees, her wounded hand in his. The silence became infused with an energy that hadn't been there before. His fingers ghosted over hers, taking in the warmth, the texture. Her pulse raced - he could feel it, fluttering beneath the skin at her small wrist. When he raised his eyes, she was watching him.

"Patrick," she said. It sounded like a warning.

He set her hand back in her lap and stood, a feeling of near-panic making his own pulse just as thready.

"It's getting late," he said.

She stood, nodding vigorously. "Yeah. I should go."

Before they were faced with the awkward task of saying goodnight, she grabbed her sweatshirt and bolted for the door. Had he not been so unnerved at the turn of events himself, Jane might have been amused at the rise he'd gotten from her. As it was, though, it seemed to him that she was holding herself together far better than he.

"I'll see you Monday, then," he said. She was already out the door and halfway down the hall. She turned back.

"Right. Monday. Rigsby's picking you up, right?"

"Yeah – yes, he is. Good," he said, still nodding. "So… Monday, then."

The conflict was still clear on her face, but she'd at least stopped her flight. She took a couple of steps back toward him.

"Jane – uh, thanks. For listening – all that stuff about my brother. And for the Band Aid."

He smiled faintly as a sudden wash of grey enveloped him. "Anytime, Lisbon. Anytime."

He closed his door, and listened to her retreat.

* * *

><p>It was well past two a.m. when Jane's cell phone rang that night. He'd fallen into a restless sleep on the sofa, plagued by vague dreams and haunting memories. At the sound of the ring tone, he fumbled for a moment until he found the phone, glaring at the display.<p>

Lisbon.

He answered with a prickly feeling in his chest, spiderwebs ghosting across his skin. This wouldn't be good.

"What is it?"

"I'm on my way to your place – I'll be there in five minutes. Tell Brad you need to come with me."

There was no trace of sleep in her voice.

"Lisbon, what the devil is – "

"They found another dollhouse."

His body went rigid. "Which crime scene?" And he knew – before she said the words, before a syllable was out, he knew – in that maddeningly prescient way that had proven too late once before.

"Turn on the news. She left it in the studio at WKBI – the producer got an anonymous call about an hour ago." She paused. "It's Kristina's room, Jane."

He hung up without another word, and dressed by the damp glow of the streetlights outside.

_TBC_

* * *

><p><em><strong>I may not get to the next chapter until Sunday, though I'll do my best to post before that - loads of deadlines in the next few days, though, so I make no promises. Hopefully this long chapter will tide you over 'til then. Be sure to drop a line to let me know what you thought, I do love hearing what you have to say!<strong>  
><em>


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter Eleven_

Jane was back in his suit when Lisbon pulled up in front of his building at two-thirty that morning, a little scruff on his chin from a day without shaving, a little shadow under his eyes from a night without sleeping. Brad stood with him, looking serious and unhappy. Or seriously unhappy, maybe.

Lisbon got out of the car, and Jane immediately headed for the driver's seat. Since Lisbon knew he wasn't above taking off without her, however, she grabbed his arm.

"Just a second, Jane."

"Have you spoken with the hospital?"

She couldn't even look at him when she answered – especially not when his face fell, something dark in his usually bright eyes.

"She's dead." It wasn't a question.

Lisbon nodded almost imperceptibly. "I'm sorry."

He slumped against the car while Lisbon went to talk to Brad.

"You need to sign a couple things," the guard said.

She'd figured as much. Brad handed her a clipboard and a pen; she noted the smell of Scotch on his breath, but didn't say anything. Jane might love the guy, but Lisbon was less than smitten. The whole writer thing was bad enough, but he obviously didn't give a rat's ass about the job. The fact that he hadn't been fired after his last colossal screw-up didn't sit well with her, either – especially not since she'd found out a few days ago that he was Bertram's cousin.

This wasn't a job well-suited to nepotism, as far as she was concerned. Give him a cushy desk job, dress him up and make him dance in a more visible position… Hell, send him to Aruba for all she cared. But don't give him a gun and a badge and tell him he's one of the good guys, just 'cause he has the right pedigree.

She finished signing the paperwork and realized Brad was watching her.

"What happened?" he asked. "Jane seems pretty shaken up."

"Crime scene," she said shortly. She walked away before he could ask any follow-up questions.

"I'm driving," Jane said, the moment she returned to him.

For once, she didn't have the heart to argue.

* * *

><p>The hour-long drive out to the Pinehurst Psychiatric Hospital was mostly silent for the first half, before Jane finally turned to her.<p>

"Couldn't sleep?"

She looked at him in confusion. "Huh?"

"How did you find out about the dollhouse? It seems awfully late to have been channel surfing."

Right. That. She hadn't been looking forward to this part of the conversation. She wet her lips, and glanced out at the highway speeding past.

"I got a text."

It was like the air between them actually changed – she could feel the energy coming off him, the way it might if someone was about to be struck by lightning.

"What do you mean? A text from whom?"

She bit her lip. "From Ellie. I mean… She didn't sign her name or anything, but I assume it was her. It was just a few words: 'We made the news.' That was it."

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" He was staring at her, not even looking at the road. Headlights approached, but he paid them no mind.

"Jane! Keep your eyes on the road."

He looked back at the last second, swerving as a horn blared at them through the night. If he was shaken by the near-miss, he didn't show it.

"How did she get your phone number?"

"It's 2011, Jane – any idiot with a computer and the IQ of a chimp can get pretty much anything they want online. You know that. I imagine she has a hell of a lot more than just my number."

He got quiet again. It had been like this earlier in the day, driving back from the hospital after he'd hypnotized Kristina. She hated it when he got like this – dark, and unreachable. By the end of the night he'd pulled out of it, of course… She kept her eyes fixed on the few cars they passed as he continued to drive, replaying their conversation when they'd been alone in his apartment. There weren't a lot of people – men or women – that Lisbon felt comfortable just hanging out with, but for some reason, Jane was one of them.

Lately, of course, hanging out with Jane had taken a little bit of a turn. It wasn't comfortable so much as…

She shook her head.

This was_ so_ not the time to go there.

They were still at least a mile from the facility when Lisbon first spotted flashing lights. By the time the hospital came into view, she had a knot in her gut and a bad feeling that she wouldn't be sleeping for the next forty-eight hours. Cop cars, ambulances, TV trucks… Hell, there was even a fire truck in front of the building.

She got out of her car before Jane had even had a chance to park, calling back over her shoulder.

"Just pull up on the curb over there and meet me out front."

She was gone before he had a chance to reply.

Flashbulbs exploded around her, questions erupting as she strode to the detective in charge of the thing – Keith Montrose, a good ol' boy from down south who was way too good looking to be believed. Over six feet tall, lean and chiseled, with soulful brown eyes and dark hair that fell in a perfect sweep over his forehead. Lisbon had worked with him before; she definitely wasn't in the mood for his charms now.

"What the matter, Keith – you couldn't get the National Guard in here?" she asked.

"Teresa – well, now the gang really is all here. They had some trouble, beyond Ms. Frye's unfortunate, uh… Situation."

"What kind of trouble?"

A harried older man, his white hair askew and his glasses falling to the end of his nose, spoke up.

"The fire alarm went off. We wouldn't have even discovered poor Kristina 'til morning, if it hadn't."

He paled at the memory.

"And you are?"

"Will Jackson – I run Pinehurst. After the fire alarm went off, some of our patients panicked. That's quite common when you're dealing with this type of population, of course. And then, once Nina – our night nurse – went to get Ms. Frye…" he trailed off. For a second there, Lisbon was afraid he might be about to get sick.

"Who's been in the room?" she prompted, hoping to get him back on track.

"No one," Jackson said. "There was no question that no one would be able to save her, of course… So, Nina shut the door and came to get me. I called the police. We've had the room locked up tight, waiting to find out what happens next."

"What about your guys?" Lisbon asked Montrose. "Anyone inside?"

"Oh, I reckon we know better than that by now. Once I found out who the victim was, I figured it'd be going straight to you. I made the call, and we put some police tape in front of the door. Fine with me… I've got enough blood and guts in my life with the ex-missus – no need to go looking for more. Just let me know what we can do."

She looked at him suspiciously, just as Jane sidled up beside her. "You're being awfully amenable all of a sudden," she said to Montrose.

"Why wouldn't he?" Jane asked, before the detective could respond. "This whole thing is a PR nightmare – a flashy serial killer leaving grisly dollhouses all over the city, the cops with no leads whatsoever. Besides which, Sheriff Dillon here has a bit of a crush on you… Isn't that right, Sheriff?"

Montrose didn't even flinch. "Always a pleasure seeing you, Patrick," he said with a grin, before he returned his attention to Lisbon. "I had my men pull the surveillance footage – I could drop it by your office later, if you like."

She hesitated. "Uh – Actually, I'd rather take it now. We'll want to take a look at that right away."

He tipped his hat at her. "Whatever you want, ma'am – I aim to please. Now, I'm gonna see if I can lend a hand getting the rest of these folks calmed down, so I'll be around for a while. You just holler if you need anything."

He actually winked at Jane as he walked away, nodding once more toward Lisbon. She glanced at Jane as they made their way inside the building.

"Is it too much to ask you to play nice, just once?"

"What?" he asked, wide-eyed. "I was merely telling the truth – he clearly has a thing for you, Lisbon. And the gorilla didn't even have the decency to seem embarrassed when I called him out on it."

"Yeah," she said dryly. "He's got some nerve."

Jane's lips quirked up in the faintest of smiles. Lisbon took a moment to savor the levity, knowing it wouldn't last.

* * *

><p>Rigsby and Van Pelt showed up on the scene just as Lisbon had removed the police tape and was preparing to open the door. They both looked flushed, but not in the Been-Caught-Screwing-Around way; more in the God-What's-Next? way. Lisbon would have preferred the former.<p>

"How close do you think it's gonna be to that dollhouse they showed on the news?" Rigsby asked, while Lisbon's hand was still on the doorknob. She noticed that Van Pelt had gone white.

"There'll be no difference," Jane said. His voice was calm, but Lisbon could hear the underlying tension.

She braced herself.

If Red John had fancied himself an artist when he was displaying his victims, Ellie Jennings made no such claim. If anything, she seemed more interested in shock value than aesthetics. Van Pelt gasped the second the door was open, and Rigsby wasn't much better. Jane blinked a couple of times, like he was adjusting his eyes.

Lisbon looked over her shoulder, addressing Rigsby as she nodded toward Van Pelt. "Either pull it together or get her out of here," she said. She sounded like a bitch, she knew, but this wasn't the time or the place for weak stomachs.

"I'm fine," Van Pelt said, and Lisbon was surprised at the strength in her voice.

Jane didn't even glance at them, already wading into the carnage. Lisbon followed behind, her eyes traveling along the blood-stained walls. The classic Red John smiley face was painted over the bed, with one major difference: the eyes and mouth were open wide, as though caught in a prolonged scream. She felt a chill go up her spine, and quickly focused on something else.

The rest of the room wasn't any less unnerving, though. Kristina Frye was in pieces. Lisbon searched the room, noting the seemingly random arrangement of bloodied limbs, the head set with eyes open on the nightstand. She called Jane over when she saw what was lying underneath it.

She nodded toward the head when she had his attention. Rigsby and Van Pelt had taken off at some point in the interim – apparently, Van Pelt hadn't been as fine as she'd claimed. Not that Lisbon could really blame her this time. Jane didn't look that great himself.

"What is it?" he asked.

"The book on the nightstand."

He went to it. She noticed that he didn't actually look _at _the disembodied head. Not that she could blame him. She tasted bile at the back of her throat, but pushed past the nausea.

"_Frankenstein,_" Jane noted.

"She's not much for subtlety, is she?" she asked.

Jane smiled faintly before a look of dull resignation returned to his face. "I knew this would happen," he said. Under his breath – Lisbon was pretty sure it hadn't been meant for her ears.

"Patrick," she said. She turned and looked at him. There was a smudge of blood on his suit; she resisted the urge to try and wipe it away. "This wasn't you. You could've set up camp in the next room, and there's no guarantee you could have protected her."

"Right, yes. I know." He nodded, but she knew he was just going through the motions. He swallowed convulsively.

"What does it smell like in here?" he asked. There was something so naked on his face that she was tempted to look away. She bit her lip, inhaling as much as she could without risking puking all over Kristina Frye's blood-soaked carpeting.

"It smells like death, Jane." There was no bite to her words, and he nodded understandingly.

"Yes… I expect it does. Anything else?"

She inhaled again, closing her eyes this time. "Incense again."

"Sandalwood, you said?"

"Yeah, I think so. And…" She sniffed, wrinkling her forehead as she opened her eyes. "Flowers."

She recalled what Rigsby and Van Pelt had said when they'd smelled the first dollhouse – flowers and soil. Jane remembered the same thing, she could tell, though he made no comment. They wandered the room for another few minutes of silence before Cho showed up. He stopped at the threshold and shook his head.

"Anybody here get the feeling Ellie Jennings might be missing a screw or two?"

"Starting to," Lisbon said. "Where are Rigsby and Van Pelt."

"Rigsby's puking his guts out in the garbage can in the hallway. Van Pelt's holding his hair back. Where do you want me?"

"Hell if I know."

She stood there for a minute or two, overwhelmed by everything in front of them. What did they know at this point? Not a goddamn thing. Nobody had been able to figure out who Red John actually was, so there was no way to go back in time and try to find the connection between him and Ellie Jennings. And what did they know about Ellie? That she liked creepy Victorian novels and novels, smelled like flowers, and obviously had some pretty significant anger issues.

They didn't know a goddamn thing.

She turned to look at Cho – if for no other reason than she was bound to go nuts if she spent anymore time staring at the gore on the walls. As she was doing so, she caught a glimpse of Jane. He'd gone about three shades whiter than a ghost, staring at something on the floor.

"Jane?"

He didn't answer. She followed his gaze to a partially crumpled pencil sketch at his feet.

"What is it?"

Another second passed before he took his wallet from his pants pocket. His hands were shaking as he pulled a photo from the billfold and handed it to Lisbon. She stared at it, then back at the sketch. A little girl with mountains of curls and Jane's smile gazed back at her in both the photo and the sketch. The only difference was the message printed in blood across the bottom of the drawing:

_You'll have a new family soon. _

"Get out here, Jane," she said quietly.

"No – I'm fine. I need to – "

"I mean it," she said, her voice gaining strength. "Go. Find Rigsby and Van Pelt, talk to the guy who runs the place or some of the orderlies or the residents. Hell, go torment Montrose for all I care. But get out of here – you don't need to be here for this."

"Actually, I do." Jane didn't get angry very often, but now she could see it rising in him like a wave. He turned on her. "I find a drawing of my daughter in here, and you think I can just leave? Turn my back on this? I _knew _this was going to happen. The moment I left Kristina this afternoon, I knew. This evening back at my apartment, I knew. I won't be sent away, as though this is something from which I need to be shielded – as though _I'm _the victim."

He was still shaking, his eyes filled with tears she know he would never let fall. Jesus. How much could one person take, really, before there was nothing left to save?

"Okay, fine," she conceded. "But I want you to listen to me…" She looked back at Cho, who read her gaze without her having to say a word. He left the room.

"Jane, look at me."

It took him a minute to do so. She thought back to the evening in his apartment – candles and paint fumes, the feel of his lips brushing against the back of her hand. Against her better judgment, she reached up and guided his face until he was looking into her eyes. His skin was warm. He blinked a few times at the feel of her hand – like he was just waking from a bad dream.

"I want you to listen to me. This isn't your fault. You're not alone – you've got people who care about you. You've got family. We're gonna find this woman, and we're gonna make her pay. But whatever she does… Whatever she did before, whatever comes next, it doesn't have a damned thing to do with you. You didn't do this. She did."

His eyes ghosted over all the horrors in the room before they found Lisbon once more. He nodded slowly. "I just…" he cleared his throat when his voice broke, and tried again. "Well, this woman is clearly mad."

She couldn't help it – Lisbon laughed out loud at his words, so relieved she could cry when she saw that little spark of mischief in his eyes. A wave of exhaustion washed over her. This crap was getting old. When she was sure Cho wasn't looking in, she leaned her head into Jane's chest for just a second, letting him take her weight.

"Let's let the ghouls in here to clean the rest of this up. We've seen enough," Jane said, quieter now.

He rested his hand at the back of her neck, letting her lean into him for just a minute – one minute that they didn't acknowledge and Lisbon didn't even try to label, but when they parted she felt better. Stronger. When she glanced at Jane, she got the feeling that that moment's respite had done the same for him.

They left Kristina Frye's room, and shut the door behind them.

_TBC_


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N - For those of you slightly unnerved with the disturbing content in our last chapter, this chap offers a little bit of a reprieve. I'm still committed to finishing this story up by the season premiere next week, so I'll be striving to post a chapter a day from here on out. Thanks to everyone who's given such wonderful feedback thus far - I hope you continue to enjoy it!  
><em>

_Chapter Twelve_

The sun was coming up before Lisbon had a chance to catch her breath. She felt disgusting – clammy and exhausted, and stinking of crime scene. She had blood on her shoes and blood on her jeans, and something even worse than blood that she didn't really want to think about, stuck to the edge of her jacket. She'd sent everyone else home, but Jane had insisted on staying with her.

He'd gone back to the car about an hour before, while Lisbon interviewed more witnesses and went over surveillance footage. When she got to the car, Jane was sound asleep – his head slumped to one side, his mouth open just a little. She was secretly, vindictively pleased to note the tiny trail of drool at the left side of his mouth.

The man might look like Adonis, but at least he slept like a mortal.

He didn't open his eyes when she got in and started the car, but she could tell by the change in his breathing that he was awake.

"All finished?"

She laughed. "Yeah, right. I'll be lucky if I get twenty minutes of down time this whole weekend."

"Well, that's healthy."

"It's Serious Crimes – not sure healthy is one of their priorities." The only police vehicles left on the scene were a couple of crime scene vans. Lisbon noted a line of local TV stations' trucks parked along the side of the road, and sped up when they set their sights on her.

"Vultures," she said under her breath.

"Meh. Everyone has to make a living somehow."

"Since when have you been a fan of the press?"

He shrugged. "I'm not. Just something to say, I suppose." He glanced at her, and then went quiet as only Jane could – the man's silences could drown out a crowd at Wrigley Field.

"What?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, Lisbon, but…" she tensed up, preparing for whatever was to come. "You're really not looking your best. You need to get some sleep."

"I need to get some coffee, is what I need."

She scanned the road up ahead, hoping for a Dunkin Donuts before they hit the highway.

"That's the last thing you need," Jane argued. "At least let me drive, and you can have a few minutes' rest that way."

She hesitated. He was right – she was running on fumes, with no end in sight.

"You promise to wake me the second we get back to HQ?"

"The very instant," he promised.

She pulled over.

Once Lisbon was in the passenger's seat, however, she realized she was too wired to sleep. She looked out the window for a while, thinking about the case.

"There was nothing on surveillance – Ellie must've spent some time inside casing the place. There are cameras everywhere, and we didn't see a sign of her."

"And no one heard anything? That seems hard to believe." He grimaced. "You'd think someone being dismembered in the next room would raise more alarms."

"The director said everybody's drugged to the gills at night. There was a call button, but obviously Kristina didn't get to it in time."

"And obviously the fire alarm was a diversion meant to enable Ellie to leave the premises undetected."

"A diversion that worked," she said disconsolately. She continued gazing out the window, turning things over in her head, until Jane interrupted her.

"You know, you're supposed to be sleeping."

"I've got too much to think about to sleep."

"You have too much to think about _not _to sleep. Come now, Lisbon. Contrary to what you might like to think about yourself, you're not superhuman. Just close your eyes."

She nodded toward the road. "Don't worry about me – just focus on driving, would you?"

"Lisbon," he said, in his most persuasive tone – the one he used to use to dupe the rich and famous back in Malibu. "Close your eyes. Humor me."

He sat up straight with both hands on the wheel, glancing at her every so often. He did seem to have things under control. She sighed. The idea that maybe, just maybe, he could work his magic and get her a few minutes' peace really was tempting.

She closed her eyes. "Stop gloating," she said.

"I'm not gloating."

"You are – I can feel you gloating. Don't be so smug. I'm tired. I'm closing my eyes. It's got nothing to do with you."

"I have no doubt."

Another few seconds passed in silence, the road rolling along beneath them.

"Okay, now what?" she asked.

"What do you mean, now what? I thought this had nothing to do with me. You've closed your eyes – now, you sleep."

"Just like that?" She opened one eye. "Gee, I wish I'd thought of that."

He sighed. Like _she _was the exasperating one. "Close your eyes, Lisbon," he said again.

She did.

"Now, think of the most peaceful place you know. The beach, the forest…"

"The Lincoln Park lily pool," she said.

He paused. "Really?" Before she could defend herself, he started up again, his voice going back to that smooth, soothing tone.

"All right… The Caldwell lily pool. The water's calm, there's a cool breeze stirring the trees. You can hear the birds calling. Picture it in your mind. Imagine the silence. No one has any expectations, you're free to do exactly as you wish…"

* * *

><p>Lisbon woke to the sound of her cell phone calling her back from such a deep sleep that she had a hard time reorienting herself.<p>

She was in her car, stopped somewhere. The sun was high in the sky. Jane was fast asleep in the driver's seat.

She fumbled for her phone, before she finally found it in her jacket pocket. Tommy's number was on the call log when she checked it, but by then she'd missed the call and didn't bother trying to get back to him. According to her clock, it was nearly noon.

Shit.

"Jane! Wake up!" He sat bolt upright, eyes comically wide and his hair going in six different directions.

"What is it?"

"What is it? What is it? I'll tell you what it is," she jumped out of the car and strode to the other side, practically yanking Jane from the driver's seat.

"Ow – Have you gone mad, woman?"

"Have _I _gone mad? She looked around again, trying to figure out where in God's name they were. "We were supposed to be back at the CBI hours ago. There's a corpse in pieces and a crazy woman on the loose, and you choose now to catch up on your beauty sleep? You _promised_ – "

"I promised I would wake you the moment we got to the CBI. Unless I'm mistaken, we are nowhere near the CBI as yet. Besides which, I already spoke with Hightower. She knows we're on the case."

"Except that we're _not_ on the case, you ass. We're nowhere near the case." She got the car started and was headed down the road before she realized she still didn't know where the hell they were.

"Just take a left up here, it'll take you straight to the highway," Jane said, already sensing the question.

They drove in silence for a minute or more before he nodded toward her phone. "You might want to call your brother. He's been trying to reach you."

She didn't even want to know how he knew that, considering her phone had been in her pocket this whole time. Or at least she _thought_ it had been in her pocket this whole time.

It took her three times with the stupid hands-free deal before she got it going, while Jane just looked more and more amused.

"I could do that for you," he offered.

"I can do it – you've done plenty already, thanks very much."

In the end, she couldn't get her damn earpiece to work, so she had to settle for putting Tommy on speakerphone.

"You just keep quiet," she hissed at Jane while the phone rang, her hands tensed around the steering wheel and her eyes scanning the horizon for the first sign of the fucking highway.

"You know, it's no wonder you're single – you aren't very pleasant to wake up to."

She debated tossing him out of the car. She wouldn't even have to slow down that much – he'd survived worse than a little road rash, hadn't he? Besides, the bastard would probably just bounce.

"He's not at the facility any longer," Jane said, _after _she'd reached Oakview and been transferred twice. He shrank to the far side of the passenger's seat, like he was afraid she might hit him. To be fair, his fears weren't unfounded.

"You're telling me this _now_?"

"I was afraid you'd be angry that I inadvertently answered your phone."

"How did you inadvertently – " She took a deep breath, forcing herself to loosen her grip on the steering wheel before she ripped the damn thing right out of the car.

"You know what, never mind. That's not important right now," Jane said hurriedly.

Finally, Tommy's counselor came on the line. She was an older lady, Chicago-tough – which was good, because not much else seemed to get through to Lisbon's thick-headed baby brother.

"Have you spoken with Tommy yet?" the counselor asked, before Lisbon had gotten a single question out.

"No, Mary – what the hell's going on?"

"Your friend didn't tell you?" the woman asked. "He said – "

"I tried, Mary," Jane said, like he'd known the woman for years and Lisbon was the one being unreasonable. "But she's having an off day, I'm afraid."

Lisbon shot him a killing glance, and waited for Mary to continue.

"Well, you ain't the only one, baby girl. Tommy left last night. We had our after-dinner group session, and he was a little pissier than usual. I went to check on him this morning, just to see if maybe he'd gotten up on the right side of the bed for a change, but he'd taken his things and it looks like the little weasel climbed up through one of the ceiling panels."

There was a long pause, while Lisbon's stomach clenched and she thought for just a second that she might have to pull over. _Get a grip_, she told herself shakily. _Hold it together. _

"Teresa, you know this is court ordered – I had to report it to the police," Annie said.

"Yeah." Lisbon nodded rapidly. Jane was watching her. She wished she could just climb into a hole somewhere. "I know, Mary, don't worry about it – you did the right thing. I'll let you know when I hear from him."

As soon as she got off the phone, she tried Tommy's cell. When she got voicemail, she disconnected and checked her messages. There were four from Tommy in the past four hours.

"Why the hell didn't you wake me?" she demanded of Jane. "Do you have any idea the shit that just hit the fan while I was sleeping?"

"Tommy's fine," Jane said shortly. "I spoke with him, and while his frame of mind leaves something to be desired, you'll have an opportunity to set things right shortly. I must admit, I'm looking forward to meeting him."

Oh dear God, no. "He's coming here?" she asked. Her voice sounded much smaller than usual.

Jane glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "His flight won't be in for another few hours – I expect he was just calling during his layover. You'll have time to tidy up before he arrives, so no need to worry."

He couldn't possibly be this oblivious, could he? Lisbon was seriously debating heading the car into oncoming traffic – Jane honestly thought she was worried about her housekeeping? Just when she thought they were making progress – when she thought she was getting a little closer to who he really was, and they were really starting to connect – he pulled something like this. They drove in silence almost the whole way back to the CBI, while Lisbon continued to seethe. Finally, she turned on him when they were just a few blocks from HQ.

"What the hell were you thinking? I mean… Seriously, Jane? Is it just that you like playing with my life when yours gets dull or unmanageable? Is that it?"

He turned to her, the façade gone for just a moment. In its place, there was a look of genuine hurt.

"You're a difficult woman to do things for. You keep everyone at arm's length, insisting that you can take care of yourself. And you can," he added quickly, before she could say anything. "You're more than capable." He shrugged, like it was the simplest thing in the world. "But you needed sleep.

"At the very least, I could make that happen for you. I don't know who Ellie Jennings is. I can't fix whatever's going on with your brother. I have no idea if Ellie's targeting the rest of us, or if one or the other of us from the team will show up dead at any moment. But I could give you a few hours' sleep."

She couldn't really think of a way to respond to that. CBI headquarters loomed up ahead, but for the first time since waking, Lisbon felt the tiniest weight lift off her shoulders. She glanced at Jane.

"I'm still mad at you," she said.

He smiled that sunny, blinding smile of his. "Oh, I've no doubt. I'd have it no other way."

"You were completely wrong, and if you ever try anything like it again, I'll kick your ass six ways to Sunday, but…" she let out a long, slow breath. For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to look at him as she said the words. "Thank you for trying to look out for me. Even though it was misguided and you probably only made my life more complicated – I do appreciate you making the effort."

He nodded, uncharacteristically serious. "I've said it before, Lisbon. I'll always save you. I may not do it the way you'd like, and more often than not I expect I'll just be saving you from yourself, but… I'm still going to try."

She had no idea what to say to that. It occurred to her that her cheeks were flaming red and her hair was a mess and Ellie Jennings had just turned the corner from a little bizarre to card-carrying psychopath, _and _her brother was now on the run from the law and due to show up in Sacramento by nightfall…

All things considered, Lisbon found herself kind of grateful for the extended nap Jane had arranged for her. God knows, she was probably going to need it.

_TBC_


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N - Thanks so much for all the fabulous feedback I've been getting so far - you guys are lovely! The next chapter is dedicated to Liz, who requested smooches. Hope everybody still seems in character, despite the quite obvious turn of events. Happy Friday, kids!  
><em>

_Chapter Thirteen_

Rachel Fellows was already knitting when Jane entered her office on Monday morning. He was tired and cranky and not the slightest bit interested in wasting fifty minutes on a stranger's sofa, however both Hightower and Lisbon had made it clear that missing the appointment was not an option.

And so, here he was.

He went in and stretched out on the couch. Perhaps three minutes passed in silence before he gave in.

"Lisbon's brother is in town," he said. He watched Rachel's face, looking for some sign of surprise. There was none.

"Mm hmm," she said absently.

Jane sat up. "You knew he was here."

She didn't even acknowledge his accusation. "I heard there was a murder this weekend. A woman you dated."

"I didn't date her. We went on _a _date. Not a very good one, I might add." He paused for a moment, studying her. "Only Lisbon would say that. Lisbon or Van Pelt, but Grace doesn't know Lisbon's brother is in town – and you do. Which means…" He perched himself at the edge of the sofa, looking at her closely. "She came in this morning, didn't she? An emergency meeting, to try and keep herself from coming unglued."

While he told himself that he was pleased Lisbon was talking to _someone_ about her troubles, he had to admit to a certain childish resentment that that someone wasn't him.

"I suppose it's possible," Rachel said. She continued knitting, intractable. "Lisbon mentioned something I find quite intriguing about you, actually."

He had a good idea where this conversation was leading, and chose not to comment.

"Don't you get tired of prying into people's innermost lives?" he asked instead.

"She said you lost your sense of smell while you were in prison."

Clearly, Rachel didn't get at all tired of prying into people's innermost lives. Jane lay back down, feeling petulant and out of sorts.

"You know," the old woman said, after silence had fallen for another minute or more, "the funny thing about conversation, is that it's a uniquely mutual experience. You tell me things, and there's no predicting what information I might let slip as our time together progresses."

He eyed her suspiciously. "I tell you things… You tell me things?"

She shrugged. "In my experience, that's usually the way a conversation works."

"What about confidentiality? The doctor-patient code?"

Rachel went right on knitting. "Oh, there's no need to get technical, really. Certain information might just… slip. I'm an old woman – prone to forgetting the rules now and again. You know how it is when one gets older. Now, when did you say you noticed your inability to smell?"

"I didn't."

She looked at him ever-so-brightly, clearly aware that she had the upper hand. Jane thought this over for a few seconds.

"Is Lisbon all right?"

For the first time, Rachel looked at him honestly. Her hands went still. Her eyes narrowed, an obvious intelligence shining behind them.

"Teresa could use a friend," she said.

Jane considered this. He sat up once more, and nodded toward the basket of knitting things in Rachel's lap. "I don't suppose you have an extra set of needles in there, do you?"

She smiled as she handed him the basket.

He chose carefully, going through until he found a pair of knitting needles and a bit of soothing, ocean-blue yarn.

"It was my third day in prison," he said. His voice was curiously small. Rachel didn't look up from her work. "I was at breakfast when it happened. I could smell… And then I couldn't."

And he began to tell the story, as he set to work on a pair of baby booties for Rachel Fellows's as-yet-unborn grandchildren.

* * *

><p>"What were you doing with Rachel for an hour and a half?" Lisbon asked, when Jane had rejoined the others in the CBI lab at Brett Partridge's request. She was clearly concerned.<p>

"Knitting," he said casually. Van Pelt smiled. Rigsby snickered. Cho continued reading a file he held, while Lisbon continued to glare.

Partridge interrupted before Lisbon could question him any further, humming something vague and off-tune as he entered the lab.

"So, looks like Ellie may have made her first mistake," he said. He was beaming, in a most unattractive fashion.

"Ellie doesn't make mistakes," Jane said, without hesitation.

"_Everyone _makes mistakes," Partridge said. "You just have to know where to look to find them."

The dollhouses – five of them now, including the latest ghastly mess, depicting Kristina Frye's room – were lined up all in a row on a long working table. The sketch of Charlotte was bagged in plastic and pinned to the bulletin board. Jane looked away at sight of the familiar smile.

"All right, just tell us what you've got already," Lisbon said. "A print? A hair? What?"

"Soil," he said. He was grinning like a madman; Jane shivered at the sight.

"Soil," Rigsby repeated. "Like – dirt?"

"Like dirt," Partridge confirmed. "Dirt with an over-the-moon pH level and enough potassium to – "

"Fertilizer," Jane interrupted. Partridge looked displeased, clearly having been interrupted before he was able to make some pithy scientific observation.

"Not just any fertilizer," the lab technician said. "You're looking for fertilizer used specifically in an area where extreme weather conditions are an issue. There were traces of lime in there – that's what raised the pH."

"The higher the pH level, the simpler it is for plants to get the nutrients they need. That's important in areas where droughts are common," Van Pelt said. Everyone turned to her in surprise. "What? I like plants… I can't have something useful to add every so often?"

"You didn't drag us all down here just to tell us about the pH level in some dirt you found," Cho interrupted, cutting to the chase as only he could. "So… What is it? Do you know where it came from or not?"

Partridge looked like he was about to pack up his toys and go home. Lisbon intervened before he could do so.

"This is great work, Brett. If you can give us some specifics, we'll get on it immediately."

"I was getting to that part," he said primly. "I cross-referenced weather conditions in my database with the base elements in this sample, factoring in the additives from the fertilizer to take into consideration the optimal conditions the grower would hope to replicate."

Jane shifted impatiently.

"And?" Lisbon prompted.

Partridge frowned at his inability to make the slightest impression on the agents. He handed a printout to Lisbon. "Chico. I did some checking, and there are half a dozen farms that fit within the parameters I set. I got the contact info for you – I guess you guys can take it from here."

Lisbon was on the move immediately, the others trailing close behind. Jane remained where he was.

"Where did you find the soil?" he asked.

"She used it for the plant pots in Kristina Frye's dollhouse," Partridge said. "Can you believe that? She must've gotten cocky. Happens to the best of us."

Jane was unconvinced. There was no question in his mind that this was no mistake. Ellie Jennings had been leading them around by the nose from the very beginning; this was just another part of her plan.

She was changing the game. She wanted them to find her.

The question was, why?

* * *

><p>Of the six farmers with the potential of being associated with Ellie Jennings, three were small operations owned and run by elderly couples. Van Pelt found Ellie Jennings on her fourth phone call.<p>

She hung up looking shaken, but undeniably excited.

"Ella Jensen," she said. "Forty-two years old. Single. There's a farm up in the outskirts of Chico with a bunch of greenhouses – she raised flowers in one of them."

"Past tense?" Lisbon asked.

"She hasn't reported to work for three days."

"All right – everybody in the van," Lisbon ordered, her own face flushed with excitement. "We're going out there. And I want a BOLO on this Ella Jensen – we'll need an updated photo."

"They don't have one," Van Pelt said. "Apparently, Ellie's a little camera shy."

Not surprising. Jane followed dutifully as they piled into the van. Lisbon glanced at him once they were on the road, with Rigsby behind the wheel.

"Why aren't you more excited?"

"I am excited," he said, without feeling.

"No, you're not. Jane, this is a break. This is _the _break we were looking for. We know who she is now."

"Because she wants us to know," he said. He paused. Then: "I want to cook dinner for you tomorrow night."

The entire van went silent. Lisbon turned crimson.

"What? Jane – "

"You and Tommy," he said smoothly, taking undeniable delight in how flustered Lisbon had become. "Your brother will only be in town a short time, I expect – "

"Your brother's in town?" Van Pelt asked. "Why didn't you tell us? We want to meet him."

"I've met him," Cho said blandly, looking up from his book. "He's nothing to write home about."

"Gee, thanks," Lisbon said. She'd gone from flustered to murderous in mere seconds. A new record, even for Lisbon.

"Well, then, why don't we kill two birds with one proverbial stone," Jane said, choosing to ignore Cho. "I'll cook dinner for all of us tomorrow night. You'll come to my place. We'll even talk shop if you like." He directed this at Lisbon, who did not appear at all mollified by the suggestion.

"Jane, I'm not bringing Tommy – "

"Well, that's not terribly charitable," Jane said. "Your brother's in town for a few days, and you want to abandon him in favor of dinner with your friends?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh, come on, Teresa," Van Pelt said. "Jane's a great cook. It'll be fun."

Jane grinned, directing his full 40-watt smile at Lisbon. "Yes, _Teresa_. It'll be fun."

He didn't expect to learn much from their two-hour trek to the wastelands of Chico, California, but Jane had to admit, he did enjoy the ride that day.

* * *

><p>The home address Ella Jensen had given her employers turned out to be an abandoned lot on the outskirts of Chico. Once they'd checked the address and realized it would yield nothing, the team headed for the farm and greenhouses owned by Mr. and Mrs. Arnold Wellington. Jane and Lisbon interviewed the couple while the others went to search Ella JensenEllie Jennings's now-abandoned greenhouse.

"She was always quiet," Arnold Wellington told them. He was a tall, mostly bald man with a sun-worn face and hands like leather. His wife was a short, mostly bald woman, also with a sun-worn face and hands like leather. Looking at them, Jane found himself unforgivably grateful he'd decided early on to avoid a life of hard labor at all cost.

"But obsessed with having everything just right," Mrs. Wellington said. "We like things to be a certain way, of course, but Ella just took it too far. Everything was right angles with her, if you know what I mean. Lined up just so. I remember one time…"

Jane left them to their conversation, leaving the stifling little farmhouse for the dry, relentless heat of Chico in July. A pecan grove stood across the dirt road, the greenhouses just beyond them. Jane removed his jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and took a stroll.

* * *

><p>The moment that Jane set foot inside Ellie Jennings's greenhouse, he knew they had the right woman. Surely, only the most disturbed mind would arrange their work space with such meticulous attention to detail. Row upon row of flowers of every variety grew there, each plant pot equidistant from the other, the flowers arranged by shade so that the greenhouse looked more like a carefully plotted color wheel than a place where wild things grew.<p>

Jane took some pleasure in placing three blue orchids in amongst the hibiscus, completely throwing off the monochromatic color scheme. If Ellie returned – which Jane sincerely doubted – at least she would be momentarily disturbed by his blatant disregard for her rules of order.

He leaned in and sniffed a few of the flowers experimentally, but what was sure to be the richest of fragrances made not the slightest impression. He straightened once more, and thought back to his conversation with Rachel Fellows earlier that day.

_What's the last thing you remember before you noticed the change? Walk me through that morning. _

He honestly couldn't recall at first, though he did try. Finally, after a few false starts, he began.

_I remember the showers – not the most pleasant scent. Strong soap, sweat. Other odors… Even less pleasant. _

He'd stopped, sparing them both details that were not pertinent to the conversation.

_And then?_

_Breakfast._

_What were you eating?_

_Eggs. Tea. Some awful processed meat. The man next to me had some type of hot cereal._

And then, Jane had stopped. Rachel hadn't pressed him for details, and he hadn't offered them. He couldn't remember anything further, as though the entire event had been wiped from his mind.

Now, he stared at the sea of color before him. Ellie Jennings had stood where he was standing now. Had she been thinking of vengeance, the last time she was here? He scanned the greenhouse's plastic walls for clues.

There was nothing.

The morning in the prison returned to him once more. The man next to him in the cafeteria had been well over six feet tall, with a shaved head and tattoos on both of his well-defined shoulders. He ate with his head down, hunched over his cereal like a starved dog, ready to bite should anyone come close. It wasn't until he'd moved back, away from the bowl, that Jane had caught the scent.

"So, what'd you find?" Rigsby asked, pulling Jane back from his reverie. "And please tell me it's something besides a bunch of flowers."

"Afraid not," Jane said, forcing himself back to the light tone he'd perfected over the years. The scent - or the memory, at least - stayed with him, however. His stomach turned. "She led us here for some reason, though. We just have to figure out what that reason is."

"I think I found it," Lisbon said. As usual, she managed to walk in halfway through the conversation and catch up without missing a beat. Jane looked at her curiously. She held another dollhouse up for them to see.

Van Pelt groaned. "Are you kidding? Where did you find it?"

"It was out back. There's a shed out there."

There was no mistaking how deeply this particular dollhouse disturbed Lisbon. The others strode toward it while Jane's misgivings grew. Seemingly from nowhere, Red John's words during those few moments before he'd pulled the trigger, returned to him.

_Your wife was very clean. She smelled like coal tar soap and lavender. _

"Jane?" Lisbon called. "Are you coming?"

He nodded. Did his best to force himself from the memory, even as it pulled him deeper in.

"Where out back?" he asked.

She gestured vaguely. While the others gathered around the dollhouse, Jane left them in favor of the bright sunshine and open air.

It had been difficult to breathe in the moisture of the greenhouse, but Jane found it no easier once he was outside. The sun beat down, blinding him in its glare.

The memory of the prisoner's face returned to him. He'd had a teardrop tattoo in the corner of his left eye, incongruously delicate for such a large man.

_"You got a problem?"_

_An image of Red John's face flashed through his mind, those dark eyes gazing at him with such evil intelligence. Goading him. _

_"Your daughter smelled like sweat."_

_"It's new, Daddy! Here." Charlie, tipping her head close to him, her blonde curls tickling his nose. "See – I smell like the dolly you gave me."_

_The prisoner, edging closer to him._ _"What – you never seen a guy eat strawberries and cream before? We're not all animals in here."_

"Jane!"

He tried taking another breath, certain he was about to be sick. All around them, fruit trees grew in long, straight, perfect lines. His lips were dry, his throat parched. Lisbon was staring at him, her brow furrowed with concern. She took his hand and pulled him into the shelter of an orange grove.

"Sit," she ordered.

He didn't argue. He sat with his back against the tree's solid trunk, still struggling to catch his breath.

"Just breathe - nice and slow, even breaths," she coached him. She – Lisbon. Lisbon, prone to hard edges and bursts of violence, sat beside him now with his hand in hers and her voice low. Soothing.

"Where are the others?" he asked.

"They took the dollhouse to the van. I told them we'd meet them in a while. Whenever you're ready."

He nodded. "That's good." He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the tree trunk. The nausea remained, and with it a bizarre, almost overwhelming urge to curl up with his head in Teresa Lisbon's lap.

He nearly laughed aloud at the thought of her reaction.

Instead, he focused on the feel of Lisbon's surprisingly gentle fingers, rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand.

The brief sense of calm vanished when he tried to take a breath. He caught that scent again out of nowhere, and with it a flash of Charlotte's blonde curls. This time, stained with blood.

He gasped at the vision, and jerked himself upright. Opened his eyes.

Just Lisbon. Lisbon, sitting cross-legged in an orange grove. If he breathed deeply, he could just catch the scent of citrus.

Behind it, though…

"Jane, I want you to talk to me," Lisbon said, the concern evident in her voice. "I talked to Rachel before we left – she said you might have some trouble today. Do you want me to call her?"

As though she were talking to a lunatic.

Perhaps she was.

He shook his head, however. He felt as though he were underwater, with no way to reach the surface.

"Where did you find the dollhouse?" he asked, when he could finally find his voice again.

She hesitated. Not certain if she should talk about the case, or try and pull him back from the depths first – he could see the struggle waging behind her green eyes. He could even tell when her decision was made. It anchored him, being able to read someone else for a moment. She nodded toward a small tool shed. Jane followed her gaze, and felt his heart suddenly go still.

All around the shed, growing wild and untamed, were the largest strawberry plants he had ever seen.

"In there," he said. Had Ellie left it there on purpose, he wondered? He dismissed the question almost immediately. Of course she had. "Do you smell that?"

Lisbon stared at him. "Smell what?"

"Strawberries. Do you smell strawberries?"

She inhaled deeply. "Uh… Yeah, I guess so. Strawberries and oranges. Why?" Suddenly, comprehension reigned. "Do _you _smell that?"

"I think so." He sniffed the air cautiously – almost delicately, waiting for the memories to reclaim him. The smell of citrus was stronger now, the strawberries a faint undercurrent on the air. "So, it's not in my head, then?"

Lisbon touched his knee, and let her hand linger there. Studied his face. There was a certain sadness there – there was always a certain sadness with Lisbon, of course, but he didn't like to be the source of that sadness.

"No, Jane… It's not in your head. Are you okay? You sure you don't want me to call somebody?"

"Who, exactly, would you call, Lisbon?" he said. If there was sadness in her face, there was just as much in his words.

He put his hand over hers, still set on his knee. Curled his fingers around hers. She was pouting – Lisbon had at least a dozen different pouts, one for every occasion. Her brow was furrowed. She looked away the moment he caught her eye.

His hand moved, seemingly of its own volition, up to her wrist. It was a tiny thing – _she _was a tiny thing. So much smaller than she appeared. She'd removed her jacket, and wore a dark, fitted t-shirt in deference to the warm day. Jane slid a fingertip up her forearm, watching gooseflesh appear in its wake.

"Jane. We should go." He heard that same warning in her tone that had been there the other night, in his apartment.

Before the moment could go any further Lisbon stood, and pulled him with her. Once they were up and she tried to extricate her hand, however, he didn't let her go. Instead, he took her by both small, perfect elbows, and pulled her just a tiny bit closer. His heart was beating rapidly.

So was hers.

He leaned closer. Lisbon didn't move away.

They stood in an orange grove laced with strawberry plants, and he closed his eyes and inhaled, hovering above her. Breathing her in. She smelled like cinnamon and cloves and orange trees, blessedly unlike anything from his old life. Lisbon's hands rested on his chest, palms flattened as though to push him away. She didn't push, though.

If she wanted to resist, she could.

She didn't resist, either.

He opened his eyes and looked into hers. He had never seen her look more aroused – or more terrified, desperately trying to summon the strength to run before anything happened. Before he broke through that wall of hers.

Their eyes remained open as he bridged that final distance, his hands sliding up to her upper arms, pulling her tight against him.

The kiss began tentatively enough – she was still resisting, trying to convince herself (or him, perhaps – he didn't even care anymore) that they needed to be reasonable. As soon as he tasted her, however, Jane was lost. His hands drifted, one at the back of her neck, the other at her waist. He curled his fingers in her dark hair, marveling at how soft it was, how pliable her lips felt beneath his own.

She let herself go for a split second, no more – giving as good as she got, her body lithe against him, her hands fisted in the front of his shirt. Jane felt the shift as she came to herself, however. Her hands flattened against his chest once again. She pushed him backward, and he recoiled just in time for the right hook that he should have anticipated.

"Ow! Dammit, woman!" He put his hands to his nose and danced backward, the sting making his eyes water. "What was that for?"

"Are you kidding? What the hell is the matter with you?" she demanded. His indignation was slightly lessened when he noted tears in her own eyes. "Are you nuts? What the hell did you do that for?"

He had no answer for that. The throbbing in his nose was underscored by the racing of his heart and the unmistakable rush of blood to areas heretofore left out of the equation.

"I finally get my nose back, and you've probably broken it again. Have you no impulse control at all, woman?"

He thought for a moment she might hit him again. Her hair was mussed and her lips were swollen and her cheeks were flushed, and Jane had a broken nose and a lunatic on the loose and another dollhouse of doom in the CBI van.

"Everything all right back here?"

Cho stood at the edge of the orange grove with eyebrows raised. Though his expression was characteristically impassive, Jane had no doubt that he had been present for a good portion of what had just transpired.

"Rigsby's hungry, and we've got a long drive," the agent continued. He looked at Jane, and indicated a spot just below his own left nostril.

"You've got a little blood there."

"You don't say," Jane said dryly.

Lisbon grabbed her jacket and stalked away before he could say anything further. Cho followed behind, glancing back at Jane with a combination of pity and amusement. Jane wiped gingerly at the blood on his upper lip and took a deep breath.

He could still smell the strawberries, growing heavy and deep red just outside the shed at the edge of the orange grove. He could smell citrus, and the dry scent of the dusty road that would lead them back to the highway. And beneath all of that, spicy and rich and unmistakable, was the heady aroma of cinnamon and clove.

"Do you think we could stop somewhere on the way back?" he called after Cho. He rubbed his aching nose, scooped up his jacket, and trotted off after the others. "I'd like to get a nice cup of tea somewhere."

_TBC_


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter Fourteen_

It wasn't like Lisbon had never thought about what it might be like to kiss Jane. What straight woman in her right mind _wouldn't _think about it every so often, right? The fact was, Jane was a good looking man.

A very good looking man.

But, he was also seriously damaged, and her co-worker, and the biggest pain in the ass she had ever met.

So, yeah, _maybe _she'd entertained thoughts of kissing Jane. Once. Okay – maybe twice. And _maybe _she'd let that fantasy go a little further, when she'd had too much to drink and the moon was full and the appeal of having the run of her own house was overshadowed by the fact that she slept alone A LOT. But the point was, it had all _stayed_ in her head. Nobody needed to be any the wiser that she'd thought crap like that – even Jane, regardless of how often he might say he could read her mind.

But then, that night in his apartment had happened. The candlelight, the paint fumes, and his lips on her hand. Thankfully, Kristina Frye's gruesome murder (not that she was thankful for Kristina's murder, she reminded herself sternly) had totally steered her away from any lustful thoughts regarding the CBI consultant.

And it's not like she was thinking anything lustful when she was in the orange grove with him at the Wellington farm, either. If anything, she was just trying to figure out whether or not she was gonna need to sedate him to get him back to the CBI, while she talked him down from what had obviously been a pretty severe anxiety attack.

Who the hell kissed someone after they had an anxiety attack, anyway?

Patrick Jane, that's who.

Patrick Friggin' Jane.

"Lisbon – would you care to share your thoughts with the rest of the class?" Jane asked.

Thanks to her right hook, he sounded like he had a cold, and his nose was swelling. He was sitting on the bench seat behind Rigsby, who was once again driving. Lisbon was sitting beside him, with the latest dollhouse on the seat between them. Van Pelt had been relegated to the far back of the van. Lisbon had wanted to commandeer the front seat, but she was afraid it would have been too obvious if she made a fuss. Instead, she was stuck sitting next to Jane and his swelling nose for the next two hours.

She turned to face him, and forced herself to focus on the dollhouse. It wasn't like that was such a tough thing, after all. It was a case. She liked cases. Despite the fact that they might all be in danger and Ellie Jennings was obviously a few Froot Loops shy of a full bowl, this dollhouse case was an interesting one.

"This one isn't like the others," she finally said, relieved to find that her voice sounded exactly the way it always sounded, and not at all like she'd just been kissed senseless by Patrick Friggin' Jane.

"These aren't Red John's victims," she continued. "These are kids we've never even heard of before. And it doesn't look like there's any violence. If something happened to them, it happened _after _the scene Ellie's depicting here."

Like all the other dollhouses they'd found so far, this scene showed just a single room. Two twin beds stood against a wall with ugly, outdated floral wallpaper. There was a small green shag rug between them, and matching white dressers. No posters or paintings on the walls. The kids she'd referred to were a boy and a girl, seated together at the edge of one of the beds.

"Lisbon's right – this isn't a crime scene," Jane said definitively. He looked closer. "We do have one common thread, however."

Lisbon peered into the little room, noting the copy of _Frankenstein_ in the boy's hands.

"And look at the calendar," Jane said, pointing out the only thing decorating the walls.

She looked closer, squinting to make out the date. "1978?"

"This isn't a crime scene," he repeated. There was a hint of excitement in his voice. "This is Ellie and Red John. She wants us to know her."

"Why would she want that?" Lisbon asked doubtfully. "The game's not exciting enough, otherwise?"

"Maybe she's lonely," Cho said.

Rigsby barked a short, rough laugh from the front of the van. "And this is her way of letting us in? Yeah, right."

"No – Cho's right, actually," Jane said. "She lost Red John – the only one who's ever truly known her. Our obsession with one another would mean that she would feel closest to me, after him."

"So she's chopping up your old girlfriend and threatening your friends?" Van Pelt asked. "Obviously she didn't watch enough Sesame Street when she was a kid. There are much more suitable ways to show your affection."

"I didn't say close in a good way," Jane said. "Also – Kristina Frye was never my girlfriend."

No one said anything to that, but Lisbon felt just the tiniest bit of satisfaction at his words. When their eyes met, however, she immediately regretted the feeling. He was smiling at her. Damn him. She blushed. Sometimes it sucked working with a psychic - fake or not.

"Okay, so," she said quickly. "She wants us to know her. In that case, what are we supposed to get from this scene, exactly?"

"I think we're imbuing Ellie Jennings with more intelligence than she may actually have," Jane said. "We're looking for metaphors, but what if there are none? All of the other scenes were exact replicas," he said.

"So this is an exact scene from Ellie and Red John's childhood," Cho said.

"It looks like an institution," Lisbon said. "The white walls, no posters or art work. Matching furniture."

"Like an orphanage?" Van Pelt offered.

"That would make sense," Jane agreed. "How old did we decide Red John was when he died? Forty-eight, forty-nine?"

"About that, yeah," Rigsby said.

"So, in 1978 he would have been sixteen, seventeen years old," Jane continued. "And Ellie would have been nine or ten. I suppose we could get a listing of all of the children that age housed in California facilities in 1978."

"That should be a short list," Cho said.

"What about what Kristina said, when she was channeling Red John?" Lisbon asked. "'My creator, my creation.'"

" 'My canvas, my muse,'" Jane completed for her.

"I get all of it but the canvas part," Rigsby said. "The rest of it's a little creepy, but I get where he's coming from. But the canvas…"

"What if we should be looking at that literally, as well?" Jane asked.

Van Pelt wrinkled her nose. "So, this creepy teenage guy what…? Drew on Ellie Jennings when she was a ten-year-old orphan? Ew."

"That's _too_ literal," Jane said, shaking his head. "What was Red John's medium?"

Lisbon felt her stomach drop. "Blood." She looked at Jane, searching his face. "Are you serious? You think these kids were in some orphanage together and Red John used this little girl to perfect his carving skills? That's your theory?"

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Rigsby said.

"You passed your quota for puking on the job Friday night," Cho said. "Suck it up."

"It would certainly make it easier to find the two of them, wouldn't it?" Jane asked. "Surely there would have to be some type of record for an incident like that."

Van Pelt was already on her laptop before the theory had been fully formed, her fingers tapping out parameters for the search. Lisbon felt a little better. The details might be sickening, but at least they were getting closer to finding Ellie – and hopefully stopping her, before she killed again.

The wrinkle in Jane's forehead made her suspect they might not be on the same page with this, however.

"What?" she asked. "You don't think we're making progress?"

"Oh no – this is progress, no doubt," he said. "But I still have the distinct feeling that we aren't putting together any more of the puzzle than Ellie wants us to. She'll continue to dole out the pieces as she pleases. She's playing us. We're just along for the ride."

"Well, it's the best we can do for now," Lisbon said. "And you saw the way she killed Kristina Frye – she's losing control. Which means she's gonna get sloppy."

Jane nodded, but he had that distant look in his eye that always made Lisbon feel like she was talking to thin air. It hardly mattered right now, anyway. Short of whatever Van Pelt was doing on the computer, there wasn't much else they could do. She closed her eyes and made herself comfortable on her end of the seat, relieved that Jane wasn't making a bigger deal of what had happened between them, now that everybody was together.

She'd no more than gotten that thought out than something jostled against her side.

She opened her eyes to find Jane moving the dollhouse carefully to the floor.

"What are you doing?"

"It's taking up too much of the seat. I have no room."

"You have plenty of room. You don't need to stretch out everywhere you go, Jane. Just suck it up."

He frowned, but he left the dollhouse where it was. She closed her eyes once again. Jane sighed. And twisted. And turned. With every move that he made, he shoved the dollhouse a little bit farther into her space. Finally, she opened her eyes and sat bolt upright.

"Fine! You know what, take the whole damn seat." She climbed over the back of the seat and practically landed in Van Pelt's lap. Grace stared at her with wide eyes, while Cho and Rigsby looked on with obvious concern from the front.

"You don't have to be so dramatic," Jane said, without the slightest bit of concern in his voice. He pushed the dollhouse to the end of the seat, and stretched out with his jacket under his head.

"Are you all right, boss?" Van Pelt whispered to her.

Lisbon was seriously beginning to doubt it.

* * *

><p>Once they got back to the CBI, Lisbon went down and signed the dollhouse over to Partridge and the rest of the crew in the lab, and then hightailed it back to her office. She closed the door, sat at her desk, and heaved a huge sigh of relief. It was four o'clock, which meant she could do a couple hours' worth of paperwork before she went home, and maybe even get a good night's sleep tonight. Van Pelt was still trying to track down kids matching the description they'd worked up from Ellie's latest work of art, Cho and Rigsby were sifting through old crime scene photos, and Jane…<p>

She looked up.

Jane was standing outside her window. He knocked lightly, pointing toward her door.

She looked back down at the paperwork in front of her. Picked up a file.

Jane knocked again, a little louder this time.

It was pointless ignoring him – Jane never just went away. Especially when she really wanted him to. She looked up from her paperwork again, shooting him a killing glare before she motioned him in.

He opened the door, and started to close it behind him.

"You can leave it open," she said quickly. He looked uncertain.

"All right. I just – I thought we should talk about what happened in the orange grove."

The fact that he was obviously a little nervous made him only slightly less annoying. Lisbon shook her head.

"We don't need to talk about it. It happened, it's done now. Let's just move on. Everything's been a little crazy since you got back…"

He nodded. "Yes. It's true, things have been slightly… tumultuous. But that's not what that kiss – "

"Sssh! Jeez, Jane!" She was out of her chair and across the office in a tenth of a second, pushing Jane out of the way as she slammed the door behind him. "Have you gone completely insane?" she hissed at him. "I mean, it's not bad enough that you kiss me – "

"To be fair, you kissed me back."

"I did not! I was trying to calm you down – "

"By shoving your tongue down my throat? Interesting technique."

She took a step toward him, prepared to finish the job she'd started with his nose. A quick flash of alarm crossed his face. He held up his hands in surrender.

"All right, settle down. You're right. I kissed you. But I just came in here to clear the air," he said hurriedly. "I was upset, and a trifle… disoriented, and then you were there and you were indeed very comforting, and you smelled like cinnamon – uh, by the way, what brand of soap do you use?"

She stared at him in confusion. "What?"

"Nothing. Sorry. Irrelevant. But… You are absolutely correct. I was out of line."

"It can't happen again," she said seriously.

"No," he nodded again. "I agree completely. We have a professional relationship, and of course our friendship means a great deal to me."

He had on his most earnest Jane face – the one that always reminded her of a ten-year-old boy. And, honestly, she _was _touched that he was making the effort.

"It means a lot to me, too," she admitted. "And this job… Jane, I can't have things like what happened today screwing up what we're doing. So… Y'know," she shrugged. "It was the heat of the moment, things happened. We kissed. No big deal."

"Right. Exactly." He turned to go, but then stopped at the last second and turned to face her once more, one finger raised – like something had just occurred to him. "Except… Well, it was _kind of _a big deal. I mean… Seven years of working together, and it's never happened before. So, you have to admit that it was a bit out of the ordinary."

"Okay, yeah…" She nodded slowly. She always got sucked in when he was being logical. He took a step closer. "All right, so it was a little bit of a big deal," she agreed.

"And it _was _a good kiss." He took another step toward her, studying her with a faint smile. "You have very soft lips. Much softer than I'd expected."

Crap. She couldn't seem to look away. Maybe he'd hypnotized her. Why the hell else would she just fall under his spell like this?

"Dammit, Jane," she almost whispered. And then, she saw it – that little spark of mischief in his eyes.

The bastard thought this was _funny. _

"Get out!"

"What? Wait – "

"I mean it, Jane – get out, before I throw you out. It happened. It's done. It was a good kiss, and now you've got it out of your system, so let's get back to work. Get the hell out of my office."

He was gearing up to argue with her some more until he saw the look in her eye, and must have realized that she was about two seconds from punching him again.

"Right – okay, I can see you're upset, so I'm going. We're still on for tomorrow night, though?"

It took her a full five seconds to figure out what he was talking about. "Jane, I don't think – "

"If you bow out, everyone will know something's happened between us," he said. She hated it when he was right. "And besides, it'll be fun. I'll cook. We'll meet your baby brother, impress him with how deeply your colleagues respect you."

"All right, fine. We'll all have dinner. Now, Jane… Please."

That little flash of honesty touched his eyes again, the hint of vulnerability that had sucked her in more than once. "Excellent. And… We really are okay? I meant what I said – whatever happened, I didn't mean to endanger our friendship."

She took a deep breath, and let it out very slowly. This was _worse _than dealing with a ten-year-old boy.

"Yeah, Jane. We're okay."

And then, before she knew it, he'd come over and pulled her into one of those awkward hugs he gave her sometimes – awkward because she was _so _not the hugging type, and as weirdly open as Patrick Jane might appear, she was convinced that he wasn't really the hugging type, either. And so he squeezed a little too hard and let go a little too fast, and then gave her this weird pat on the shoulder before he – Patrick Friggin' Jane – actually blushed, and hurried for the door.

What the hell?

Lisbon was just getting her wits back when Jane opened the door and crashed straight into Detective Keith Montrose.

Jesus. This day would never end.

"Keith. I didn't expect to see – uh, did we have an appointment?" She racked her brain in a moment of panic, thinking back to the last time she'd seen him, the night of Kristina's murder.

"No, no. But I found something I thought you might be interested in, and figured I'd just stop by."

Jane was still standing in the doorway, blocking Montrose from coming in.

"About the case? Excellent," Jane said. "I'd better stay, then." He started to come back into the office.

"Out," Lisbon said.

"But I – "

"Now."

He frowned, first at Lisbon, then at Montrose, and made for the door.

"If you need anything, I'll just be outside. Anything at all."

"Jane!"

As he was passing Montrose, he leaned in to the taller man with a conspiratorial stage whisper.

"Watch yourself – she's a little cranky today." He shot a look back at her, hands raised, before she could say anything more. "I'm going, I'm going."

And he finally, mercifully, left.

* * *

><p>Keith Montrose stood awkwardly just inside her office, once Jane had gone. He looked back at the door.<p>

"He's quite a character. I've gotta say, I admire you, Teresa. I don't know that I'd handle somebody like that so well on my team."

She sat back down at her desk, and ordered herself back to cool, collected CBI Lead Agent once more.

"I don't really handle Jane – nobody does. I just do my best to keep him in check, and clean up his messes when I fail."

There was a pile of paperwork that she had yet to get to on her desk, and it was now almost four-thirty. Crap. She took a breath, and looked up to find Montrose watching her.

"You look like you could use a break. This case is brutal, from what I've been hearing."

"Yeah," she agreed. "It's a rough one. You said you have something for me. Did you find anything more at Pinehurst?"

He handed her a file and sat down, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "It came out in one of our follow-up interviews. One of the patients there said something about Kristina Frye's private nurse."

Lisbon looked up. "Kristina didn't have a private nurse."

"Exactly. We did some follow up, and there are a few patients there who say a woman dressed as a nurse went into Kristina's room a couple nights a week for the past month or so."

"Did you get a description?"

"Vague, but I had one of my sketch artists draw something up. It's in the file. They're not exactly the most reliable witnesses."

"Still, this is good work. It could definitely lead to something."

"Well, that'd certainly be the hope."

He sat for a minute more, waiting while she looked over the file. The sketch definitely wasn't the best one she'd ever seen – the face was vague and nondescript, the most notable part of the drawing being the nurse's uniform. Which had probably been Ellie's point.

Lisbon closed the file again. She stood.

"Thanks again. I owe you one."

"My pleasure." He stood as well, but made no move to go to the door. Instead, he just stood there for a few seconds, looking awkward.

"Well, if there's nothing else…" Lisbon hinted.

"Actually, there is."

She bit back a sigh. Crap. Of course there was.

"The fact of the matter is, the file turned out to be kind of a convenient excuse to get me up here. To be honest, I was thinking about you the other day. Before Kristina Frye's murder, I mean. And then, once that whole thing happened and I saw you at the crime scene – "

"Keith," she interrupted. "I really appreciate the sentiment. But – "

He held up his hand, leveling a steady, gentling smile her way. It was the kind of smile Lisbon expected worked really well on spooked horses and wild dogs. To be honest, it wasn't _totally _ineffective on her, either.

"Just hear me out. I know you've got a lot on your plate right now. And I know that after everything with Patrick and the murder this spring, and his court date coming up, I'm sure you've got all you can do to hold your team together."

She nodded, and surprised herself with a small, rueful smile. Montrose held her eye.

"So… Here's my offer. You need anything – somebody to talk to, bounce ideas off, cook you a decent meal… Whatever. I'd like you to give me a call. No pressure. No strings."

He set his card on her desk, and slid it toward her.

"If you don't call, that's all right. I understand. Maybe it really isn't the right time, or you're just not interested. No hard feelings, if so." He searched her face with those big, soft brown eyes of his, that same gentling smile on his lips. "But I'd love to hear from you."

And that was it. He turned around and headed for the door, leaving Lisbon blinking in confusion. It was like the whole world had gone crazy, and they were bent on taking her with them.

* * *

><p>By the time Lisbon got home that night, it was almost eight o'clock. A hot summer day in Sacramento had turned into an equally hot night, with families barbecuing out front and a few kids playing in a wading pool next door. The drive home had given her a little time to relax and unwind, going over the events of the rest of the day. Since Jane was required to be back in his apartment by five-thirty unless he had authorization that said otherwise, he'd had to leave with Rigsby at five.<p>

That had given her a couple of hours of peace, at least. And if her mind had _occasionally _revisited that kiss in the orange grove, or the look of genuine concern on Jane's face when he'd thought he might have screwed up their friendship, or the way his hands felt at her side, and in her hair, and pulling her close… Well, she chalked that up to the strain she was under and the fact that Jane was, as she'd already admitted, a good looking man.

It wasn't anything more than that, dammit.

She called Tommy just as she pulled in, letting him know she was home. When she opened her front door, she did a double take. She even checked the number on the door again, thinking for just a second that she'd gone in the wrong apartment.

"Very funny," Tommy said.

"What'd you do?" she asked, unable to keep the suspicion from her voice. "And how much is it gonna cost me?"

He rolled his eyes. "You're so dramatic. I just made dinner. And cleaned up a little. Oh – and I fixed your air conditioning."

The place smelled like pot roast – one of her brother's specialties – and it was cleaner than she'd ever seen it before. After the heat of the outside, it felt like heaven walking in to a cool seventy degrees or so. The table was set, a game was on TV, and Tommy put an ice cold beer in her hand the second she'd hung up her jacket.

"Tommy – " she started.

"Just have some dinner, Rese. And then hear me out. That's all I'm asking."

She hesitated.

"Come on – pot roast and the White Sox. Does it get any better?"

She had to admit, it probably didn't. She reluctantly nodded, watching Tommy as he took the food from the oven and set it on the table.

Her baby brother was almost a foot taller than her, with broad shoulders and the same dark hair and light complexion common to all the Lisbons. He was the best looking of the three brothers, with dark eyes, a quick laugh, and a smile that lit up the room.

At least, that's who he was on his good days.

They settled at the table, both facing the TV. She noticed that he'd cracked open a beer for himself as well, but made no comment.

The Sox were up by two at the top of the sixth inning. When a commercial came on, Tommy muted the TV without her having to ask.

"I talked to Mary today," he said.

She looked at him in surprise. "She called you?"

"I called her. Listen, Rese, I know it might seem like I'm full of shit – especially after this latest stunt. But you don't know what it was like in there."

"I'm thinking it was a hell of a lot better than jail." She set her beer down, feeling her temper rise. "Do you have any idea how many strings I had to pull to get you in there? Not to mention the money – "

"And I'm gonna pay you back, Sis. Every cent, I swear."

"I don't give a crap about the money – you know that. If it got you clean, I would've emptied my bank account three times over. It would've been worth it." She watched him drain the beer in his hand. That fatigue she'd been fighting all day washed over her again.

"Would you just listen?" Tommy continued. "I talked to Mary, and she set me up on a conference call with a couple of Feds – "

Her stomach turned. She pushed her plate away as soon as she realized where the conversation was headed.

"Why didn't you talk to me first?"

"Because it's my friggin' life! Come on, Rese. I can't go to prison - think what that'd do to Annie," he said - playing the one card he knew his sister couldn't fight him on. Anna Beth... Thirteen years old, sharp as a tack and funnier than hell; the one thing Tommy'd ever done right in his life. "She needs me. I talked to the Feds, and they said if I turn over on a few of the old crew, they could set us up someplace. We could start fresh. They'd pay for a new place, find me a job. Presto – clean slate."

"Witness protection."

He nodded. "Yeah. Just like in the movies. I just need a leg up, y'know? Get out of Chicago… They might set us up someplace nice, maybe even somewhere warm, like what you got here. Maybe down in Florida. Annie'd love something like that."

Lisbon just sat there, staring at the TV. Ramirez was at bat. She watched him swing and miss twice before she said a word, barely noticing when he hit the ball out of the park his third time out.

"You know your problems won't just go away, just 'cause somebody gives you a new name," she said. She studied him. He looked just like their dad – same dark eyes, same strong jaw, same straight nose. Same demons in a lot of ways, too. Definitely the same temper.

"You're still you," she said. "You still gotta deal with that."

"I know that." A little spark of temper flashed behind his eyes. "But I'm not like those losers they put me with back at Oakview. I went to the meetings, I listened to all those guys complain about how shitty their lives were, when the fact is, they don't have a clue. You and me, we know what it's like to get handed a raw deal."

"Yeah, we do," she said, making an effort to keep her voice even. "But eventually, you need to let that go. Yeah, things were tough when we were kids. Mom died. Dad wasn't perfect. But you know what? I got over it. I moved out here, and I made something of my life."

"And I'm just asking for a chance to do the same," Tommy interrupted. "Don't I deserve that?"

She stood, clearing her plate and Tommy's without a word.

"So, that's it? Conversation's over?" He stood, coming closer. Lisbon had stopped being afraid of men and their fists a long time ago, but in its place had come a sort of constant awareness of the physicality of others. She knew where to hit, how to protect herself. She held her ground.

"What do you want me to say, Tom? You're a grown up – it's your decision. I just hope you understand that this little fantasy you've got goin' – the government setting you up with some great job and tons of cash in Miami Beach or something… That's not the way it works. And I won't be there to have your back. You go in, and our ties are cut. That's it." Her voice broke. She swiped at her tears quickly, forcing them back.

Tommy was watching her now. She thought back to when they were kids. He'd always been her favorite – with that mop of dark hair and those freckles and that quick, easy laugh. And yeah, she knew she wasn't supposed to have favorites, but most of the time the other boys were so busy fighting her every step of the way that they never got a chance to actually _know_ each other. But with Tommy, it'd been different. He'd been her shadow. Watching every move she made, imitating her every step of the way.

Sometimes she still regretted leaving Chicago, convinced that if she'd stayed around a little longer, she could have kept him out of trouble 'til he graduated.

She sat back down across from him.

"Tommy, listen. If you're doing this for the right reasons – because you honestly want to turn your life around and give Anna Beth a shot at a better life, and you really want to help put some of those dirtbags you used to run with out of business – then I'll go to the mat helping you. You know I will. But if this is just another scam to try and get out of the consequences you should rightfully have to pay…"

He took her hand. Looked her in the eye. "I just want a second chance, Rese. The same as you got. I just want a chance to make something of my life. A reason for my kid to be proud of me."

It was the same look he'd given her when he was nine years old, and swore that he hadn't stolen the neighbor kid's bike and smashed it riding out near the docks when he knew he wasn't supposed to.

Sometimes, she thought the reason Tommy was such a good liar was because he actually believed the crap he made up.

"Okay," she said. She nodded. Pretended like she believed him. "Then I'll help you. But now… If you don't mind, I'm gonna head to bed. I'm kind of wiped out."

"Yeah, yeah, of course. You go – I'll clean up." He watched her warily, trying to figure out if she really believed him – she'd seen the same look on his face a dozen times before. She got up, gave him a quick hug, and headed up the stairs feeling like she had an entire universe resting on her shoulders.

* * *

><p>Once she was settled in the safety of her bedroom, Lisbon locked her door, stripped down to her underwear and her favorite jersey and nothing else, and lay down.<p>

The second she closed her eyes, the first thing she saw was Jane.

_You have very soft lips._

Crap.

She got up and looked through her DVDs for something appropriately violent. Instead, she settled for turning on the game. An hour passed. The Sox lost. Lisbon dozed on and off. Finally, she got up and got her jeans from where she'd left them on her bedroom floor. She searched the pockets until she'd found what she was looking for, and retrieved her cell phone from the night stand.

Montrose answered on the second ring.

"I was hoping I'd hear from you."

She forced a lightness to her voice that she didn't feel. "Yeah, well… It seemed like a pretty good offer. Are you free Thursday?"

He was.

_TBC_


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N - Hey all, apologies for the delay, but here's another lengthy chapter to (hopefully) make up for the wait. Thanks once again for everyone's amazing reviews, I'm so glad you're all enjoying the story so much! And now... Things start to heat up 'round the CBI. Hope you like it!**  
><em>

_Chapter Fifteen_

"Elizabeth Jenks and John Everett." Van Pelt's eyes shone with pride, as she pinned the faces of a young Red John and an even younger Ellie Jennings, up on the CBI bulletin board.

"You found them," Jane said. He stood, looking at the photos closely.

The sight of Red John as a teenage boy filled him with no less dread than had the grown man. As a teen, John Everett had been soft – immaculately dressed but washed-out, slightly overweight, with dark, unsmiling eyes and pale, closely-cropped red hair. Ellie Jennings was a tiny thing, with glasses and blonde hair and a pert little nose. Only her eyes gave away the demons at war within.

Jane shivered and averted his gaze.

It was Tuesday morning, and the team was gathered in the bullpen. Jane noted that no one – including Lisbon – looked particularly well-rested.

"Nicely done, Grace," he said. "What have you learned?"

Before Van Pelt could say anything, however, he held up his hand.

"Actually… May I?"

There was no mistaking Van Pelt's disappointment in his denial of her moment to shine. A bigger man would have given it to her, too. He just couldn't help himself.

"John Everett," he began. "Father killed – or at least so his mother claimed – when the boy was an infant," he predicted. "Drug addicted prostitute for a mother. The state took him away when he was…" He thought for a moment. "Twelve years old." At the look of triumph on Van Pelt's face, he paused. "No – scratch that. Thirteen. By then, he was already showing sociopathic tendencies. Lack of empathy, torturing of small animals, et cetera, et cetera."

Van Pelt nodded reluctantly. Jane continued.

"Young Red John was in and out of foster homes from that point on, but was always returned – not for any overt offenses, but because there was just a certain coldness, a disconnect, that none of the foster parents could overcome."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. He noted that she'd worn her hair up and applied just a touch of lipstick – more than she typically wore, but not enough that anyone else would notice. Jane noticed, however. He imagined her trying to rationalize taking the extra time when she was getting ready that morning, and suppressed a smile at the thought.

"Okay, so you know Red John," Lisbon said. "We're all shocked. What about Ellie?"

Jane took center stage, beginning to enjoy himself.

"Ellie lost her family when she was… Ten years old." He looked to Van Pelt for confirmation. She nodded, looking simultaneously pained and impressed at his accuracy. "They were killed…" he paused, making a show of searching for the answer when the fact was, he was already almost certain he knew. "…in a fire. Suspicious circumstances, but nothing was ever proven. Upon being put in the state's care, it was revealed that she had been a victim of long-term molestation, most likely at the father's hand."

"You can't possibly know that without having looked at the file," Lisbon interrupted.

"Simple deduction and a basic understanding of psychology, Lisbon," he said. Rather than explaining himself any further, however, he simply continued with his profile.

"Once in the foster care system, Ellie had a difficult time, as well, but her difficulties lay with overt, violent displays. Now, Ellie and Red John met at…" He looked at Van Pelt, waiting for her to fill in the blank.

"The California State Orphans Home, in San Diego," she supplied.

Jane nodded. The pieces were indeed beginning to fall into place.

"Quite right. And there, you have Red John – cold, withdrawn, calculating, with all these murderous impulses he's been trying to control. And then, you have Ellie Jennings – aka Elizabeth Jenks. Prone to violent rages, self-destructive, easily manipulated by a charismatic male after years of sexual abuse. Also with these latent, prepubescent murderous fantasies. They meet, and there's an instant connection."

"This is all great," Lisbon said, "but how does that get us any closer to catching Ellie? Or figuring out what her next move might be?"

He shrugged. "It doesn't. I told you – we're only going to learn what Ellie wants us to learn, when she wants us to learn it. I do think we need increased security on all members of the team, however."

"You think she's coming after one of us to get to you?" Cho asked.

He hesitated. This was the part of the puzzle that still made no sense to him. If he was the monster, and Red John had been Dr. Frankenstein, and Ellie was Elizabeth… It made no sense at all.

"In _Frankenstein, _it's Victor's loved ones who meet an untimely end, not the monster's," he said, thinking aloud. "While Frankenstein may have instigated the chaos by fooling with forces beyond his control, the monster is the one who does all the killing."

"Maybe we're not being literal enough again," Rigsby said.

"So Red John actually stitched together a bunch of dead bodies and brought them to life from an electrical current, and that guy's the one doing all the killing?" Cho asked.

Rigsby frowned. "Okay, maybe not."

The room fell silent, while they all mulled the possibilities.

Lisbon sighed. "All right, I don't care how it fits into the novel. I'm still adding more security. I've had a protective detail on the team since Kristina's death… I'll just ask for a little more money. You know how the state loves that."

"Wait – you've had somebody tailing us since Friday night?" Rigsby demanded. He and Van Pelt had gone a matching shade of pink.

"Everyone already knows about you and Van Pelt," Cho said. "And that pint of ice cream you scarf down on the way home from work every night. You've got no secrets."

Jane squelched a smile at the exchange. "Lisbon's right," he said. "Until we understand Ellie's end game, I don't want anyone taking any unnecessary chances."

"That means you guys have your weapons with you at all times," Lisbon picked up. "Be aware of your surroundings. Doors locked, avoid isolated areas… You know the drill."

"Sure thing, boss," Rigsby promised. "We'll keep an eye out."

"So… Do you guys want to hear the rest of Ellie's story, or not?" Van Pelt asked.

Jane looked up, feigning surprise. "There's more?"

"You know there is," Van Pelt said. "Do you want to keep showing off, or not?"

"Meh. I'm bored with the game now – too easy. You go ahead."

She smiled. "Thank you."

The rest of the information was as disturbing as Jane had expected. Red John and Ellie had forged a bond at the state home, until it was discovered that Red John had been abusing the little girl – most notably by carving crude insignias on the child's arms and legs when he'd sneak into her room at night. She had indeed been his literal canvas. He was removed from the state home at seventeen, and remanded to a psychiatric facility.

Within days, he'd escaped that facility. A week later, Elizabeth Jenks vanished from the orphans home. Neither John nor Elizabeth was ever heard from again. It was a fittingly macabre story, but Jane didn't find it particularly surprising.

* * *

><p>Once Van Pelt had completed her briefing and the meeting was through, Lisbon quickly ducked back into her office, while everyone else returned to work. Jane went to his couch and lay down, preparing for his mid-morning nap. He found it impossible to drift off, however.<p>

He'd fowled things up badly the day before, he knew. Kissing her… Well, he honestly didn't know what he'd been thinking. And while he had no doubt that he would find his way back into Lisbon's good graces, the appearance of that drugstore cowboy Montrose made it considerably more complicated.

It wasn't that _Jane _wanted anything romantic with Lisbon, of course – the notion was absurd. They were friends. Colleagues. Besides which, she was a universe away from the type of woman to whom he was typically attracted. No – he just felt protectively toward her, because of their friendship. That was the only reason he couldn't seem to stop thinking about her, he was certain.

And she really did have surprisingly soft lips.

He got up and knocked lightly on her door. When he went in, she shot him a cool glare – much more in control than anything she'd managed the day before.

"Jane," she started.

He held up his hand for her to wait, shut the door quietly behind him, and went to her couch.

"I wanted to apologize," he said. She looked at him suspiciously.

"We already did this, Jane."

"I know," he agreed. "We did. But I got the impression that you may have found my apology less than sincere."

He looked at her earnestly, acknowledging for the first time just how deeply it disturbed him that he may have inadvertently hurt her. He might tease, cajole, wheedle, and annoy her senseless, but Jane found he couldn't bear the thought of actually _hurting_ Lisbon. He looked at the ground, gathering his resolve, and then met her eye once more.

"I don't have a lot of people in my life that I genuinely care for anymore," he said.

"Jane."

"Just… Hear me out, please. I simply want to be certain you know that I wasn't toying with you yesterday. I never would." He grinned sheepishly at her raised eyebrow. "Well – yes, true, I would toy with you. But not…" He grew serious once more. "I would never willingly mislead you in that way. That kiss…"

He stopped. He'd spent a good portion of the previous night weighing how to say what was on his mind, but now he found that all of his carefully prepared speeches eluded him.

He looked back at the floor, twisting his hands together ineloquently. "I haven't kissed anyone since my wife. A peck on the cheek, perhaps, but…" He swallowed against his growing discomfort. "It's been a very long time, for me. I didn't take it lightly. I wouldn't. And I didn't mean to make you think that I had."

He stood abruptly, and returned to the door. Lisbon called to him as his hand touched the knob. He turned.

"I don't really know what to say," she began, her cheeks flushed.

He shrugged, working himself back to his careless mask. "That's all right – there's really nothing to say, Lisbon. No worries. I just wanted you to know. That's all. Now, I believe the bullpen couch is calling my name. We're still on for dinner tonight, I trust."

"Uh - yeah." She blinked, her forehead scrunched and her soft lips fixed in a pout. "Of course."

"Excellent. I'll just be in the bullpen if you need me."

He fled, satisfied that he'd mended any fences he may have inadvertently trampled. And, possibly given Lisbon something to think about.

* * *

><p>For his big dinner party, Jane pushed all of his excess furniture and unpacked boxes to the side (with Brad's able assistance), and set the table well in advance. Lisbon and her brother were running late, and Jane was surprised to note that he was actually a bit nervous about their arrival.<p>

The moment Grace and Rigsby arrived, he put them to work assembling a bookshelf he hadn't gotten to yet in the living area. Brad was chopping vegetables for the salad. Cho and Elise arrived with a bottle of wine shortly thereafter, and Jane tasked them with selecting music for the evening. It wasn't long before the apartment was filled with laughter and Duke Ellington's spirited Diminuendo in Blue.

Jane felt himself begin to relax. He couldn't remember the last time he'd truly entertained – it wasn't really something he did anymore, though once upon a time he and Angela had been renowned in their community for the parties they'd thrown. Since then, however, he had avoided it, for obvious reasons. Now, though, he found himself beginning to recall what he'd liked about it – beyond the sight of his wife in heels and cocktail dresses, of course.

The scallops were sautéing in white wine and garlic and the linguine nearly done when the Lisbon siblings arrived. Jane answered the door in bare feet (there was just something about cooking in bare feet that seemed innately right – and oh so Californian), his shirt sleeves rolled up and his cheeks flushed with wine and heat and good company.

Lisbon smiled when she saw him – the briefest flash of smiles, her dimple showing, before she blushed and lowered her eyes. She always reminded him of an awkward teen when she gave him that look – the girl he was certain she'd been, once upon a time. He returned her smile.

"It smells amazing." She sniffed the air.

He repeated the gesture, wincing slightly at the ache in his still-swollen proboscis, thanks to Lisbon's blow the day before. "It does, doesn't it? I never truly appreciated my nose, 'til it was gone."

Lisbon had departed from the norm by switching out her usual jeans-and-t-shirt for a pretty, dark skirt that fell just above her knees, and a charcoal knit top that did lovely things for her eyes. Her hair was down. She wore flip flops, and blushed even more deeply when Jane's gaze lingered on her bare legs.

"Are you gonna invite us in?" she asked, smirking at his reaction.

"Yes. Of course. I – uh, yes." He moved out of the way, and gestured awkwardly into the apartment.

A man who was clearly her brother (if the freckles and the smile weren't indication enough, the matching Lisbon gait and unmistakable chip on his shoulder were a dead giveaway) followed dutifully behind. Jane held out his hand.

"You must be Tommy. I've heard a lot about you," he said.

Lisbon's brother was tall and well-built - clearly not a body builder, but he had some heft to him nonetheless. Though Jane suspected that the man had lost a significant amount of weight in the past year as a result of his hard living. Jane paused for a moment once he had the chance to look into Tommy's eyes, however. His pupils were dilated, a kind of kinetic energy flowing through him. Jane had no doubt that Lisbon – usually hyper-aware of any shifts in the behavior of those around her – had no idea her brother was on something.

"I could say the same about you," Tommy said. He sounded affable enough, the drugs no doubt masking any anxiety he may have felt otherwise. "Rese has told me some wild stories."

"Has she?" Jane asked.

His eyes slid to Lisbon's. She looked as comfortable as a woman lying on a bed of hot coals. Jane was unclear as to what to do: call Tommy out on his transgression outright, risk Lisbon's wrath by pulling her aside to speak with her privately, or simply let the matter lie for the moment. Tommy draped his arm across his sister's shoulders easily, whispering something to her that made her laugh, and Jane's decision was made. He'd never seen her so comfortable around someone before.

"Why don't you give Tommy the grand tour," he said. "Dinner will be ready soon."

She agreed. Jane watched as Lisbon led her much-larger little brother into the next room, the two of them already chatting in that uniquely intimate sibling shorthand that Jane had always envied. He took a deep breath, and returned to his cooking. Perhaps he'd read Tommy wrong.

Perhaps the evening would be just fine.

"Wow," Lisbon called from the other room. "Looks like you've made some progress since I was here last."

"I've had to make due without your considerable talents," Jane said. "My spackling's not up to snuff."

He drained the linguine, and watched as Lisbon showed Tommy the view, her brother's head bowed closer to hear whatever she was saying. While there was an undeniable intimacy between the pair, Jane also detected some tension. The circumstances behind Tommy's sudden reappearance in her life had clearly caused a rift between the siblings.

By the time everyone was seated and the food was served, the wine had been flowing for some time and the entire group was in a rare mood. While Jane had made certain to provide plenty of non-alcoholic beverages in deference to Tommy's recent stint in rehab, the younger Lisbon sibling consistently chose to go for the harder stuff – passing up wine in favor of a steady stream of vodka stingers that Brad was preparing.

Twice, he saw Lisbon lean in to tell him to slow down. Jane pulled Brad aside and advised him to begin watering down the drinks, but Tommy resolved that dilemma by simply choosing to mix his own.

Predictably enough, the alcohol exacerbated the effects of whatever Tommy had already been on when he'd first walked through the door. Lisbon may have been unaware of his state when they'd arrived, but it was glaringly obvious by the time they were halfway through dinner.

"So, this is one hell of a spread," Tommy said, when the conversation hit a bit of a lull. "Terri's never been much of a cook, herself. I guess we know who wears the skirt around here." He smiled at Jane - an affable enough smile, though the high he was riding brought out a trace of aggression that Jane suspected he usually kept well-hidden. He was reminded of a dominance display in the wild. Rather than beat his fists against his chest, however, he merely grinned.

"There are a surprising number of cultures, actually, where skirts are a unisex item," Jane said. "And in some cultures – Scotland, naturally, but China and several other Asian cultures, as well – the skirt is a sign of virility." He shrugged. "I don't know, though. I feel like there'd be a lot of chafing, with the niblets and baubles jostling about down there. Am I right, Cho?"

Van Pelt nearly spit her drink out, and Jane was rewarded for his deflection with a truly beatific smile from Lisbon.

"I'm sorry – did you just say niblets and baubles?" she repeated.

"Well – yes. What would you have me say? My 'junk.'" He made air quotes as he said it. "One needn't be crass, Lisbon. It is dinner, after all."

The comment diffused most of the tension in the room, and for the remainder of the evening, everyone got along fairly well. Tommy managed to pull himself together a bit, and regaled them with tales of his older sister's exploits as a child. Though Jane could tell that Lisbon was uncomfortable, he was learning so many new things that it scarcely occurred to him to feel badly for her.

"So, you were a dancer?" he pressed after one such tale, involving an elementary school talent show.

"No – I was definitely _not _a dancer." She was turning quite red; despite Tommy's state, Jane had to admit he was enjoying himself.

"Nonsense. I don't know why I never saw it before. That was what the young Lisbon wanted – yeah." He nodded rapidly, thinking back to the night he'd held her in his arms in the apartment, spinning her about the room. "Makes perfect sense."

She shrugged, feigning indifference. "Okay – fine, whatever. Yeah. I wanted to be a dancer. You must have wanted to be something crazy when you were a kid, right, Jane? Something completely out of the realm of possibility?"

He pretended to consider the question for a few moments before he shook his head. "Not particularly. It always seemed as though I was on the path I was meant to pursue."

"So, you _wanted _to be a carney?" Van Pelt asked. She'd had a bit more wine than she perhaps should have herself, her cheeks flushed a lovely rose. Rigsby chuckled.

Jane winced at the term. "Such an ugly word. We were entertainers…"

"Entertainers who swindled the public and traveled with a carnival," Cho said. "If it walks like a duck..."

"Semantics. Anyway, it wasn't such a terrible way to grow up. I saw the world, learned to be resourceful, diligent, hard working…"

The rest of his statement was lost in gales of laughter from the rest of the group. Jane crossed his arms over his chest and leaned backward, playing up his displeasure at their blatant scorn of his work ethic.

"So, what else did you want to be when you grew up, Lisbon? What other nefarious plans did you have before leveler heads prevailed?"

"She was one hell of a fighter," Tommy said. "That was after the dancing, though."

Yes, Jane thought silently. After her mother was killed and her father turned into an abusive drunkard, it would make sense that fighting took the place of dancing. The thought sobered him considerably.

"She still is one hell of a fighter," Van Pelt said. "You should've seen some of the take downs she's done."

There was a subtle increase in tension in the room. Jane had been drifting, but now he came to once more. Tommy's eyes had become harder over the course of the night, in direct proportion to the amount of alcohol he'd consumed. Now, he directed those hard eyes at Lisbon.

"You remember that one time? When those guys jumped me?"

"Tommy." It was just his name, but it carried an implicit threat with it. If looks could have killed, Lisbon's little brother wouldn't have been long for this world.

Tommy merely smiled. Nothing like the bright smile of earlier, however – this one was dark and malicious. Jane found himself sitting up straighter in his chair.

"Ah, don't be so modest," Tommy said. He looked at Jane. "So, I'm maybe eight years old, Rese is… What? Fourteen, maybe? Yeah – about that. Ninety pounds soaking wet, but tough as nails. And these bullies jump me in the alley."

"And you beat them up?" Van Pelt asked Lisbon.

"I just hit one of them – that's it."

"Right in the nads, though – that kid was singing soprano for a week after that." Tommy paused. Jane braced himself, his eyes fixed on Lisbon, watching her reaction.

"You remember what happened after that, Rese?"

Lisbon stood. Van Pelt and Rigsby exchanged a glance of concern, as Cho followed her lead.

"It's time to go, Tommy," she said.

"We should probably get going, too," Cho said. Elise joined him, clearing her plate as she did so.

"Don't worry about clean up," Jane assured her. "Brad and I will tend to it. Won't we, Brad?"

"Oh, yeah – that's what I'm here for," Brad said dryly. "Clean up and moving the furniture. Funny, nobody ever mentioned that stuff in the Academy."

Though he sounded casual enough, Jane could tell that the guard had his eye on Tommy – as did the rest of the group. As for the younger Lisbon, he hadn't taken kindly to being ignored.

"You guys can hang on another few minutes," he said, with exaggerated joviality. "This is a good story."

When no one paid attention to him, his manner changed abruptly. "Hey!" His voice boomed through the room. Elise jumped at the noise, the other guests tensing visibly. Tommy lowered his voice, forcing a smile at his sister. "Everybody should hear this story. They'll like this one."

"Why don't you take it easy, Tommy," Cho said, his considerable focus centered on the younger Lisbon.

Lisbon looked like a deer caught in headlights. Jane only wished he could figure out a way to get her out of the way of oncoming traffic.

"Dammit, Tommy – "

"Sit down!" he roared. She flinched – actually flinched. He had never seen Lisbon flinch before. Out of deference for his boss, Jane had no doubt, Cho and Elise returned to his seat. Lisbon remained standing for a moment more before she returned to the table as well.

Tommy got up and began to pace. Jane's initial theory that the man was on something much stronger than alcohol was confirmed at the way his body seemed to vibrate with every step, his hands tapping a relentless rhythm on his thighs.

"So, Rese comes to the rescue, and that whole gang of pussies takes off. They'd gotten to me first, though – knocked one of my teeth out, gave me a black eye. I'd had worse, though. We all had – huh, Sis?"

Lisbon just stared at the table silently, her jaw tensed and her back rigid.

"Tommy," Jane began, "why don't we take a walk?" He stood. Lisbon went to stop him, but he held up his hand.

"Let me finish my story," Tommy said softly. He appeared to be near tears, his eyes wild. "So, I get home – bloodied and black and blue, and of course the first thing dear old Dad wants to know is what the other guy looks like. And Jimmy lets it slip that Terri here was the one who defended my honor. I bet you didn't know the great Teresa Lisbon could fly, did you?"

Jane felt his stomach clench. The rest of the table went completely silent, while Lisbon merely stared at her plate, as though willing the world to disappear.

"Dad didn't take kindly to a girl fighting our battles for us. Rese got a boot to the ass that landed her across the room. Cracked your skull open that time, didn't he? You were in the hospital for a week."

He turned on Jane. His pupils were huge, tears tracking down ruddy cheeks. The energy had gone out of his rage, however. Now, he merely looked exhausted, haunted by the ghosts that he and his sister shared.

"Tommy, listen to me," Jane said quietly. The man's eyes slid from his for a moment, still wild, before they returned to Jane's. "You must be tired – how long has it been since you've slept? Ten, nine, eight days? You're exhausted. Your eyes are so heavy you can barely stand." He moved closer, shutting out everything but the man in front of him. "I have a spare bed. Seven, six, five steps away. You can sleep here."

Lisbon stood, shaking her head. She'd regained control at sight of her brother's breakdown. Now, she was ready to take charge and clean up the mess her family had made, the way Jane was sure she'd been doing since childhood.

"Stop. I'll take him home, Jane. He's not staying here."

"Lisbon."

"Forget it, Jane."

Tommy had been on the brink of going under. At the disruption, however, he came to abruptly. He looked around the room, disoriented, before he took in the position of Lisbon and Jane standing together, facing him. Something about the scene triggered something – perhaps a memory from his past, or perhaps just some piece of paranoid fantasy concocted by his drug-addled brain. Whatever the reason, he shook his head as though clearing it of such thoughts, wheeled, and headed for the door.

"I need to go," he said, as he rushed the exit.

Lisbon followed, stopping only when Jane forced her to, his hand on her arm. "Call him a cab. Or better still, call the police. Stay here tonight."

Her eyes widened at the implication, and he shook his head quickly. "That's not what I mean. You know that's not what I mean. Just – you can't help him, Lisbon. Not in the state he's in right now. Look out for yourself for a change."

"Thanks for dinner, Jane. It was nice," she said. There was a profound sadness to her voice – a wistful quality, as though she didn't expect it to happen again.

She turned without acknowledging him the second time, and headed for the door. He stood there, frozen, and watched as she followed her brother out of the apartment and into the night.

* * *

><p>Despite Jane's assurance that he and Brad had it under control, the others stayed behind to clean up after Lisbon and Tommy had gone. As they did so, the conversation naturally turned to Tommy's behavior and Lisbon's troubled past. Jane listened without comment. The others meant well, he knew – everyone cared a great deal for Lisbon, so the discussion was more an expression of that affection than idle gossip. Still, knowing her obsession with privacy, Jane couldn't help but think that Lisbon would be mortified to know that she'd been the central topic of conversation after her abrupt departure.<p>

It was nearly midnight by the time everyone went home and Brad returned to his quarters downstairs. Jane did some light reading and a fair bit of pacing as he debated the wisdom of calling Lisbon to make sure she was all right. He finally satisfied himself with leaving a message on her cell phone when it went to voicemail, and went to bed.

He was half-slumbering, half-not, when something roused him late that night. Someone out in the hallway, a shuffling or scuffling or… an absence of sound, more energy than noise, that alerted him to their presence. The apartment was dark, but for the digital green numbers on the stove, all the way across the apartment.

It was four-thirty. Still dark outside, though the docks below were beginning to come to life. His first thought was of Lisbon and Tommy, and the disastrous end to their evening. He pulled on a shirt and rubbed his hands through his hair, trying to reorient himself. Would Lisbon come back here, if she hadn't been able to calm Tommy down? He sincerely doubted it, though he hoped she knew by now that she would be welcome.

He strained to hear something more, but there was nothing. If someone had truly been there, they were gone now. Rationally, he recognized that there was no way in hell Lisbon would come back – no matter how much she might want to. She would never allow herself to lean on him that way.

Which meant someone else was outside.

He went to the door.

After that fateful day in his home in Santa Monica, opening doors had taken on new significance. Now, with Ellie Jennings on the loose, it seemed to him that there could be literally anything behind a closed door.

He forced himself to breathe calmly as he opened up.

The hallway was dark.

He steadied his hands and flipped on the light switch.

The moment the corridor was illuminated, he breathed an audible sigh of relief.

Empty – blessedly empty, just as it had been left, with cardboard boxes piled neatly in one corner and the security cameras in place, their red lights aglow.

He was imagining things. Best get a grip before Lisbon found out – she'd be merciless if she thought he was getting paranoid.

_It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you. _

He smiled slightly at the sentiment, and turned to return inside. His hand was on the doorsill, his foot just crossing the threshold, already debating whether he should bother trying to go back to sleep. Of course not – he hadn't slept well before; the last hour before dawn certainly wouldn't change that.

His hand rested on the doorknob. He wondered if Lisbon had gotten any sleep. If Tommy had passed out the way Jane had predicted, or if he'd taken another dose of something to keep himself up.

He closed the door.

And then, behind him, he heard it.

His chest tightened.

Back in the hallway, he heard the elevator doors open.

And he knew – before he opened his door once more, before he went to the elevator, before he even turned around, he knew. He did all of those things regardless, however, with Ellie pulling the strings as he raced for the elevator with his cell phone already in hand.

His throat went dry as he stared down at the dollhouse set just inside the elevator doors. He wet his lips, his heart pounding so hard that it seemed the rest of the world had gone silent. A streak of blood was smudged across a tiny front door. Inside, Jane could make out carnage and more blood, in what was clearly meant to be Lisbon's apartment.

_TBC_

_**I know, guys - wicked cruel place to leave things. Clearly, we won't be finishing this up before the season premiere on Thursday (!), but I'll still be posting every day or two until the story is complete. Next chapter will be up by Thursday at the latest. Thanks for reading!**  
><em>


	16. Chapter 16

_**And... We're back! Now that The Mentalist has returned (and Bruno Heller clearly has no regard whatsoever for MY canon), we'll just have to stick with the 'verse I've created. So... Spoilers to 3x24, but none whatsoever for season 4. It's a whole other ballgame 'round these parts, kids.  
><strong>_

_**Once again, I'm a little late on this, but I'm making up for it with two chapters today and another chapter on Tuesday. Just a quick trigger warning: mentions of violence and some implications of sexual violence (though, to be clear, none of our characters have been - or will be - victims of sexual violence or rape in this fic)... And with that rather unsavory warning, I give you Chapter Sixteen. **_

_Chapter Sixteen_

"You need to meet me at Lisbon's," Jane said to Cho, his cell phone pressed between ear and shoulder as he sped along the Interstate. His voice was strained – certainly understandable, considering what he'd just found. He was still clad in pajama bottoms and t-shirt, his foot heavy on the accelerator.

The security detail outside Lisbon's apartment wasn't answering.

Lisbon wasn't answering.

Cho sounded as though he'd been awake for hours, without a trace of disorientation to his voice when he picked up the phone. The consummate professional. Which was why Jane had called him instead of Rigsby or Van Pelt.

"What happened?"

"There was a dollhouse in my elevator."

"Lisbon's place?"

"Yeah," Jane confirmed. "I'll be there in five minutes."

"You call the cops?"

Jane glanced in his rearview mirror. "I don't think that will be a problem."

The monitoring device at his ankle was flashing red through his thin cotton pajamas. There had been no time to wake Brad. No time to explain. The police were in pursuit, but Jane just kept his eye on the horizon. He thought of Kristina Frye, and stepped on the accelerator.

* * *

><p>Lisbon's front door was open when Jane arrived, thus making the issue of entrance that much simpler. He'd lost the police somewhere a few miles back, though he had no doubt they would catch up with him quickly. The light was on in Lisbon's front room. Her CD rack had been overturned, scattering CDs in all directions. He saw a long smear of blood on the wall along the stairs, and forced himself to keep moving.<p>

Part of him – a large part, say seventy-seven percent or so – didn't want to go any further. He should wait for the police. Or Cho.

Instead, he walked up the stairs, all the while remembering another set of stairs; another night; another lifetime. He continued to climb.

"Lisbon!"

No response.

Her second floor was even more barren than her first – a long, empty hallway, with doors on either side, no pictures on the walls. Her bedroom would be behind the first door, Jane thought; Lisbon wouldn't want to be too far from the exit, wouldn't be comfortable settling into a place enough to claim a room any deeper in.

He paused at the door.

"Are you here? Lisbon!" His voice was hoarse, and he realized that he'd been shouting since his arrival. He could hear the sirens now, tires screeching as the police pulled in outside.

Jane opened Lisbon's bedroom door, and blanched at the sight of blood – on the carpet, the bed, the wall.

Ellie had painted another howling smiley face, this one above Lisbon's bed. A chair was set in the middle of the floor, and Jane tasted bile when he realized what it held.

Lisbon. Bound and gagged, her body slumped forward. He took a step toward her carefully, thinking of the dollhouse. He should have looked more closely. Was this a trap? Would he take another step forward, and blow them both sky high?

He didn't even care, for himself. If this truly was the end of Lisbon, then Ellie had overplayed her hand. She'd miscalculated. Jane found he had no more room in his heart for vengeance. At this point, he wanted only peace.

"Lisbon?" He whispered it this time, terror choking him where he stood. Downstairs, he heard the police burst through the front door. "Lisbon, wake up."

Her hair was matted with blood on the left side, and a gaping wound in her cheek made him cringe. He crept forward.

She stirred.

Jane could have wept. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure he didn't.

"Easy, Lisbon. You're all right. It's me."

She wore the same sports jersey he'd known her to sleep in in the past, and little else. Checking for wires the entire time, Jane finally bridged the distance between them. Downstairs, he could hear the police shouting. When Lisbon finally raised her head and looked at him, he looked beyond the bruises and swelling, the split lip and the blood at her cheek, focusing instead on her luminous green eyes.

She was alive.

"You're all right," he repeated when he reached her – reassuring himself as much as her.

The police were charging the stairs now – taking their time no doubt, trying to assess the situation and determine whether or not an assailant was still in the house. Jane tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear as he crouched beside her. Tears spilled down her battered cheeks.

"They took Tommy," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"Ssh - we'll find him." He knelt at her side, fumbling with the knots that bound her wrists as the police burst into the room with guns raised. He ignored them, until one of the men pulled him away.

"We've got it," the policeman said - not unkindly, which Jane appreciated.

He allowed them to lead him away only when an EMT arrived to tend Lisbon and he heard Cho's voice downstairs.

"She's all right," he said, when they passed one another on the stairs. "Bloodied and battered, but still all right."

Cho let out a breath of relief, showing more emotion than Jane had ever witnessed from the agent before. "What about Tommy?"

He shook his head. "Ellie took him."

"Let's go," the policeman said behind him.

Cho flashed his badge. "Just a second." He returned his attention to Jane. "Any idea why she'd do that? I was expecting a repeat of the Frye scene here... How does kidnapping fit into the master plan?"

Jane wished he had an answer, but found himself frustratingly clueless. The police led him away in handcuffs a moment later, while Cho went up to see what help he might provide. By the time he got outside, Jane found himself oddly grateful when the cop pushed him into the car, if only for the feel of something solid beneath him. Already, he found himself haunted by images of what he might have found, and utterly baffled at what Ellie had left instead. Why take Tommy? Cho was correct - why not kill Lisbon, the same way she had killed Kristina?

An ambulance and a long line of police cars lined the street outside Lisbon's apartment. Rigsby and Van Pelt arrived looking panic stricken. As soon as the paramedic appeared with Lisbon, Jane watched as they rushed to her side. Cho was already there, looking grim and solid and immovable.

Lisbon looked tiny and fragile, still too stunned to fight yet. She would soon, Jane knew – once the shock wore off, she wouldn't allow the hospital to hold her. She would go over every square inch of her apartment, turn over every stone, in her quest to find her brother.

The pieces suddenly fell into place.

_Frankenstein._

_She'll need to make more of you._

_You'll have a new family soon.  
><em>

Ellie hadn't killed Lisbon, because that had never been her intention. Instead, she took Tommy. Tortured Lisbon. Set her on a path of vengeance, just like the one Jane had been on for the past eight years. He felt ill once the weight of his realization sank in: Ellie Jennings was making another Jane.

He didn't even want to consider the mad woman's end game in all this. He knew only one thing: somehow, they had to gain the advantage, or Tommy would never make it out of this alive. And Lisbon would never be the same.

* * *

><p>The next several hours were among the longest of Jane's life. He was held at the county jail, though he knew it was only a matter of time before he'd be returned to prison. He'd broken one too many rules, he was certain, and with Lisbon in the hospital there would be no one to argue his case for him.<p>

He received no visitors, and – despite asking repeatedly – could learn nothing of where Lisbon was, how she was doing, or whether they had any leads on Tommy's whereabouts.

For that entire morning, he watched the minutes tick slowly by. It was completely unlike it had been after he'd shot Red John – at least then he'd had some sense of peace, finality. Lisbon had been hurt, but he'd known she would be fine. He had no such knowledge this time.

It was after noon before anyone came to see him. He was lying on his bunk, debating his options (which seemed decidedly limited) when he heard two sets of footsteps echoing heavily along the concrete hallway leading to his cell. A voice that he couldn't quite place set him on edge instantly.

"Five minutes – that's all I need. You'll get the other half when I'm done." The words belonged to a low, deep voice with a faint Hispanic accent. Jane tensed, but remained where he was.

He opened his eyes and sat up as the deputy unlocked his cell. The man went to great lengths to avoid looking at Jane as he led a lean, hard-looking Mexican man into the cell. The moment he and the Mexican locked gazes, Jane knew exactly who it was: the same reprobate who'd sent the message – the very pointed message – from Ellie Jennings, while Jane was still in prison.

"Five minutes," the deputy whispered to Jane's assailant. "And don't make a mess."

Jane jumped up. "Where are you going?" he shouted as the deputy left, giving not a thought to retaining any semblance of dignity. "Hey! You can't just leave him in here."

The deputy didn't respond. He locked the door behind him, and walked down the hall with quick, measured steps – as though he couldn't get away fast enough. Jane certainly could understand the feeling.

"If you're here to finish the job you started in prison," Jane said, "I should warn you that I'm expecting visitors. Any moment now."

Ellie's henchman merely smiled. "You remember me."

He had a large, deep purple bruise on the side of his face – a fresh one, based on the coloring and the amount of swelling. Maybe twelve hours old, which meant it would have been inflicted at about the same time that Lisbon had been attacked. Jane did his best to push that thought far away, and tried to maintain his composure.

"Well, you made quite an impression. Literally. I have scars," he said.

"Got the job done, though."

Jane eyed the corridor, thinking of the guard's words. He just had to keep this lunatic talking for five minutes – simple, really. At least, he hoped it would be.

"And what job was that, exactly? I mean – if you're here to kill me, I feel like I deserve some sort of explanation."

"I'm not here to kill you, man." The man smiled affably, though the smile did nothing to lighten his dark eyes.

"Torture me, then?"

"Nah… I'm all done with you. You're Ellie's now. Your partner's the one I want." He touched the angry purple bruise at his temple. "We got some business to settle, me and her. I'm just here to give you another message." He took another step toward Jane.

This time, Jane didn't back away. He didn't see a weapon… Not that that really mattered. Hand-to-hand combat wasn't exactly his forte, after all.

"What did Ellie do with the man you took last night? Where is Lisbon's brother?" Jane asked. He'd been hoping to keep his tone steady, but the tension bled through with the question.

The Mexican's smile took on a dreamy cast, his eyes still as hard as black jade.

"Your partner's a little firecracker. I would've liked to spend a little more time with her, but Ellie said we didn't have no time. I could've made it quick, though." He winked. "Just between you and me, I think she was a little sweet on me."

"I don't think you're really her type."

The man considered this, then shrugged. "No? Eh… It's okay, man. We worry more about _my_ type – as long as they're bound and gagged, they don't get much choice, right? Makes it easier on everybody."

Jane fought the urge to rush the man on principle alone. Instead, he remained standing a few feet away, focused on the sound of footsteps approaching in the distance.

"You said you have a message from Ellie?" he prompted.

The man was suddenly all business again, the smile gone. "Ellie says she's picking up where Red John left off. Making somebody new - so it's not so lonely for you no more. But Red John didn't have any patience... Things were over too quick, for you and your family. Ellie likes games... She wants to play with you and your friend a little, first."

Jane felt that old sensation return – as though someone was crushing his heart in their hand. He struggled to breathe.

"So we're supposed to come find her?"

The man shrugged. "She doesn't tell me her plans – but it makes sense, no? She's a clever woman."

"Diabolical might be a better term." The guard was just around the corner now. Jane had never been one for physical violence, but he suddenly wished he'd paid more attention to some of those hand-to-hand techniques Lisbon had espoused in the past.

"Where is she taking Lisbon's brother?"

A distant smile touched the man's lips, his eyes once more taking on that dreamy cast. "Home. She's taking her home. Sun and sand… A good place to die. Trust me. We're gonna have some fun. But Ellie don't want you in here – you're no good to us in jail. You get out, or we'll go after your friend without you. You run together, and maybe we'll give you a sporting chance."

The guard returned and unlocked the door. Jane's heart was hammering in his chest, his pulse racing.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but there's some security around here. They haven't exactly given me the keys to the kingdom."

"Ellie says you can figure it out. You're a resourceful man. You got out before, yeah? I bet you get out again, no problem."

The deputy was doing his damnedest to pretend he wasn't hearing the conversation they were having. Jane didn't really care – at this point, he figured that a corrupt cop was the very least of his problems.

"Time's up," the deputy said quietly. The Mexican sneered.

"Time's up when I say time's up," he said. Jane half-expected him to slaughter the deputy where he stood, but instead he took out a small wad of bills, pushed them into the man's hand, and strolled out the door.

Jane could do nothing but stand there and watch him go.

_TBC_


	17. Chapter 17

_Chapter Seventeen_

"I don't understand how every camera in the city went out at the same time, and nobody noticed."

"I think someone did notice," Van Pelt said. "They just don't usually call in the CBI over stuff like that."

Lisbon leaned against the edge of Rigsby's desk, her head pounding. She felt like she was having some kind of out of body experience - watching all of this play out like some nightmare, tied to her last shred of sanity and composure by the very thinnest of threads. Tommy'd been gone almost ten hours now, and she wasn't any closer to figuring out where the hell Ellie Jennings had taken him. Or why. The first two hours, she'd spent tied to a chair in her bedroom, unconscious. Then she wasted another four hours in the hospital, until she'd finally just left AMA, with doctors and nurses spouting off all the horrible things that could happen to her if she didn't rest.

Not that she gave a rat's ass.

"So, you're telling me there's not a single traffic camera that was working in my area last night when they took Tommy," she said.

Rigsby shook his head reluctantly. "Sorry, boss – we're checking the outlying areas, but so far nobody's real clear on what they're looking for. I mean… we don't have a car description, no description of our perps… We've circulated the picture of Tommy, but right now that's the best we've got."

She nodded wearily. So far, she'd managed to hold it together. All she had to do, she kept telling herself, was follow protocol; she knew how to work the system and get results - she'd been doing it for years. There were procedures for tracking down missing persons, and she was well-versed in those procedures. Just because it was her brother shouldn't make a difference.

Rigsby glanced at Van Pelt and Cho. All three of them looked at her like she was about to break, or burst into flames.

"Maybe you should…" he began awkwardly.

"I'm fine, Rigsby. I don't need rest – I just need to find my brother. I swear, if one more person tells me to go lie down, I'm firing you all." She ran a hand over her forehead, wincing when she hit the bandaged gash in her cheek.

"Well, it's a good thing I don't work under you," a voice said from behind her.

This time when Lisbon winced, it didn't have anything to do with physical pain. She turned to find Hightower standing there with her arms crossed over her chest.

"I'd like to see you in my office, Teresa. Now."

Lisbon started to protest, but the look on Hightower's face convinced her that that would be a bad move. She followed dutifully behind her boss.

* * *

><p>"Shut the door, please," Hightower said, once they were in her office.<p>

Rachel Fellows sat in one of two chairs in front of Hightower's desk. Lisbon was tempted to run. Instead, she shut the door carefully behind her, and stood just barely inside the room. Back straight, head up. Ready for duty.

"I got a call from the hospital," Hightower began. "They're not too happy with you right now. Something about a severe concussion, blood loss, and possible shock?"

"I'm fine," Lisbon said immediately, keeping her tone steady. "They have to say that stuff to cover their asses in case somebody sues. I promise, I'm taking it slow – "

"You haven't slept, I'm willing to bet you haven't eaten, and how many cups of coffee have you had since you got here? How exactly is that taking it slow?" Hightower interrupted.

Rachel held up an aged hand, smiling sweetly at Lisbon.

"Teresa, I think what Madeleine is trying to say here is that we're concerned about you."

"You don't need to be," Lisbon replied. "Just let me do my job."

"The problem," Hightower said, "is that this _isn't _your job. This is your brother we're talking about, Teresa. You know I can't let you lead this investigation."

Lisbon fought a growing sense of helplessness. Rachel was watching her with that kind, grandmotherly smile, but this time Lisbon took no comfort in it. The fact was, she kind of wanted to shove that smile right down the old woman's throat.

"Then put Cho in charge," she said, trying to keep the desperation from her voice. "Just don't take me off the case – "

"Teresa," Rachel said. "You need to go home. Or go to a friend's… But you can't stay here. It's not good for you. My best advice would be for you to return to the hospital – give your body some time to heal, while the other agents do their job."

Lisbon felt the fine thread that had been keeping her grounded and in control, start to fray.

"I don't need rest. You can't make me leave – please." In horror, she realized she was on the verge of tears. She pushed past them, forcing herself to stay in control, and lowered her voice. "I have this, Madeleine. I promise you, I'm fine. I've got it under control."

"No, Teresa," Hightower said. She had that Mom look when she said it – the kind that Lisbon knew meant she wasn't changing her mind. That thread of control stretched a little bit tighter.

"Go home, Teresa," Rachel said again. Not unkindly, but Lisbon wanted to strangle her all the same. What the hell did she know about this? What the hell did _any _of them know about this?

"Fine – you know what? Screw it. Screw you. But if my brother dies because nobody else could lead up this investigation the way I can – "

"Lisbon!" Hightower cut her off. "I'm going to ignore that outburst, because I know the kind of pressure you're under right now. But I'm not telling you again – "

Lisbon nodded, desperately fighting tears. "Yeah, I heard you – Go home."

* * *

><p>All things considered, Lisbon guessed it wasn't that surprising that the next place she wound up after she'd stormed out of the CBI was County lock-up, waiting to see Jane. The alternative had been losing herself in the bottom of a bottle and a handful of pain pills, but she sure as hell wouldn't be able to help Tommy that way.<p>

Rachel had told her to go see a friend, but it dawned on Lisbon while she was driving around that her list of friends pretty much began and ended with the agents on her team. How sad was that?

So, she sat in a depressing cement room with her head pounding and the gash in her cheek on fire, waiting. She lay her head in her arms on the long, bare table, and had almost drifted off when someone's hand brushed the back of her head. She started.

"Ssh – easy, it's just me," Jane said. He sat down in one of the uncomfortable, folding metal chairs across from her.

"You look terrible," he said, as soon as their eyes locked. Unlike everybody else on the planet, Jane didn't mince words. For that alone, Lisbon thought she probably could have kissed him again, then and there. "Why aren't you in the hospital?"

She just gave him a look, and he nodded – like he understood completely. And he did, she realized. More than anyone else, Jane understood what she was going through right now.

"They won't let me work the case," she said. Her voice came out raw. She shook her head, took a second, and steadied herself. "Do you have any leads?"

He hesitated.

"You do," she said. She felt the first ounce of hope since she'd woken up in that fucking chair in her bedroom. "What do you know?"

"Nothing," he said. His eyes slid from hers in that way they always did when he was lying, no matter how much he swore that he didn't have any tells.

"Jane, if you know something, you have to tell me. The team doesn't have a single goddamn lead, and now they took me off the case, so – "

He reached across the table, and put his hand over hers. The weird thing about Jane was, he not only held the power to wind her up like nobody else (except maybe her brothers) could, but he could calm her down just as fast. He waited until she looked at him before he said anything.

"Did you see her?" he asked quietly, instead of giving her any answers.

Lisbon swallowed past pain and nausea and a memory that she wished to God she could just erase.

"No," she said, knowing exactly who he meant. "There were two of them, though – Ellie and a man. They wore these creepy plastic masks…"

Jane nodded, like he knew exactly what she was talking about. "Did they say anything? Did you hear her voice?"

She actually laughed at that. "Oh, yeah. Ellie never shut up, the whole time. The woman really likes to hear herself talk. She just stood by while the man…" She looked down at the table, suddenly overwhelmed by memories: the smell of sweat and sour breath, a stranger's hand creeping up her naked thigh, the press of cold, sharp steel against her cheekbone. Jane squeezed her hand.

"Lisbon. You're okay… Just breathe."

She nodded quickly, forcing herself back to the real world. "Yeah, I know. I'm fine." She took a deep breath. "He never spoke – the guy. Only Ellie."

"We'll get Tommy back," he said. "Do you hear me? We're going to find your brother. I'll do everything in my power to get him back safely."

She started to pull her hand away, but he didn't let go.

"Yeah, good luck with that while you're behind bars."

"Don't worry about that," he said – like it was really that easy. "I have a plan."

Jane's hands were strong and soft and soothing, holding hers just enough to let her know she wasn't alone. Still, she pulled away, eying him suspiciously.

"Jane," she started.

He held up a hand to stop her. "I know – don't do anything stupid. No worries, Lisbon, I have everything under control. You, however…" He looked at her seriously. "Why don't you go to my apartment? There's food, there's beer… There's even a bed I've never so much as napped in before. Try to get a couple hours' sleep. We'll figure this out."

It was his kindness that did it, really. Or maybe his eyes - or the knowledge that he really did understand what she was going through. Whatever the reason, Lisbon felt that thread she'd been clinging to so desperately all day stretch so tight she was sure it'd snap before she got out. She practically jumped out of her seat, biting back tears that she knew she wouldn't be able to hold in much longer.

"I know, Jane. I just - I need some air. I'll see you later."

She pushed past the guards, ignoring the feel of Jane's eyes on her back as she practically ran down the hall, desperate to get away from him before she broke.

* * *

><p>All it took was another pain pill and some fresh air before Lisbon was back in control again. What good would it do if she lost it? How, exactly, would that help Tommy get free? No... She just had to hold it together. When there were no other options, you made the best of what you had. As far as she could see, what Lisbon had was herself.<p>

Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt put their asses on the line to meet with her later that afternoon, though they didn't have much to bring her.

"What about the dollhouse?" she asked impatiently.

"Of your place?" Cho asked. "It's creepy, no question. But as far as the scene goes, it's exactly the way she left your apartment – except for another copy of _Frankenstein. _You ask me, the metaphor's getting a little old."

They were at a corner bar a few blocks from the CBI. Lisbon kept expecting Hightower to walk through the door any minute; she felt like she was gonna jump out of her skin. She always had been crappy at not following the rules.

"And the blood? Did you put a rush on getting the DNA labs back?"

"Sure," Cho agreed patiently. "But a rush means ten days – maybe a week, if you sleep with somebody. It's been less than twelve hours."

Right. She knew that.

"Have you seen Jane?" Rigsby asked.

"Yeah." She nodded, not paying much attention. Twelve hours meant Ellie could be anywhere by now.

"Does he have any brilliant ideas?" Van Pelt asked, though she didn't sound like she had much hope.

Lisbon thought of how reassuring Jane had been back at the jail – how calm he'd made her feel. It didn't mean he actually knew anything, of course. It was just the way Jane operated.

She shook her head. "No. Plus, there's that whole behind-bars thing, that's bound to slow him down."

"It never has before," Van Pelt scoffed. "And now that _you're _in danger, it could be Fort Knox and he'd find a way out. Or one of those glass tanks magicians put under water and wrap up with giant chains and padlocks, so – " she stopped. "Sorry. I babble when I'm nervous."

"It's all right," Lisbon reassured her. "I think babbling's the least of our problems right now." She glanced at the clock behind her. "You guys should probably get back."

"Do you need a place to stay?" Van Pelt asked. "I'm almost never at my apartment, since – ow!" She glared at Rigsby, who had not-so-subtly kicked her under the table. "What was that for?"

"Uh – nothing," he stuttered. "My foot must've slipped."

"Well, don't let it happen again," Van Pelt said, still glowering. She turned her attention back to Lisbon. "Anyway… You can stay at my place. Or I bet Cho and Elise have room…"

Cho looked up. To Lisbon's surprise, he nodded.

"Yeah. We've got a spare room. It smells like my grandmother, and Elise has a cat that stares at you while you're sleeping, but otherwise it's not bad there."

"That's really sweet," Lisbon said. Two shots of Jack Daniels and three pain pills was doing one hell of a good job at making her sound like she had everything under control. Even she was almost fooled. She stood. "But I'm actually set – I think I might check into a hotel for a couple days. Room service, cable, somebody else to make the bed."

Cho and Rigsby both appeared to think this was a good idea. Grace didn't look so sure.

"That's so impersonal, though. You should have someone around…"

"I'm fine, Grace. Really. You guys go back to work, keep me updated, and I'll let you know where I'm staying. Deal?"

They agreed.

Once they'd gone, Lisbon stared after them. It was almost six o'clock, and she still hadn't heard a word about Tommy. She thought by now Ellie would have made contact – what the hell else was the point? If all she planned to do was kill him, it would've been a hell of a lot easier to do so at Lisbon's apartment.

Which meant common sense was telling her he was still alive, somewhere.

She checked her cell phone for the umpteenth time to make sure it was on. It was. It was just that no one was calling.

* * *

><p>Lisbon got to Jane's at around ten that night, after spending hours calling everyone she could think of, driving around and walking around and generally making herself nuts. The pain pills stopped working, and all the whiskey was doing now was making her nauseous. The fact was, by the end of the night all she had to show for her trouble was a monster headache and what she was pretty sure would turn out to be a few popped stitches in her cheek.<p>

She actually had intended on checking into a hotel, but everything was either crazy expensive or scary cheap. So… She ended up at Jane's. On the second floor, she stopped to check in with Brad, so the guard didn't think someone had broken in. She knocked a couple of times, then shouted through the door, but there was no answer. Which meant he probably wasn't staying here anymore – or was taking advantage of his freedom, now that Jane was in jail.

It felt weird being in Jane's apartment without him – like she was breaking in, or prying into something she shouldn't see. It was silly, really: he was the one who suggested it, after all. Still… It wasn't nearly as nice here without Jane wandering around, annoying the crap out of her with his random observations and crazy schemes.

The apartment was clean, dishes drying in a strainer on the counter – he'd cleaned up after the dinner party, then. She'd sort of wondered that, in the back of her head: was Jane the kind of guy who let dishes stack up until he couldn't stand it anymore, or did he keep things neat? Her hunch had been correct, then – she couldn't imagine Jane letting things go too long. He'd probably freak out if he knew what a horrible housekeeper she was.

She sat at the table where they'd all gathered only twenty-four hours before. How was that even possible? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

She'd honestly been looking forward to the night – which seemed idiotic, now that she thought about it. What had she honestly expected to happen? She'd put on a skirt and Jane would make dinner and the people they really were would just magically disappear? Not likely. Back when he was married, she bet Jane had dinner parties all the time. She'd seen pictures of his wife – photos from the gossip columns and local tabloids, since they were one of the 'It' couples in Malibu. She was movie star gorgeous, and of course Jane was… Well, Jane. Yeah – they would've entertained a lot.

Lisbon got nervous at parties. She never really knew what to talk about, or what to wear, forever reminded of that awkward girl in high school standing in the corner nursing crappy punch while everybody else danced and had a good time.

Last night, though… Last night, she'd been fool enough to believe things might be different. Tommy was good at parties – he was funny, told great stories, always knew what to wear and what to say and how to act. He was the one who'd picked out the outfit that had made Jane's jaw drop… Tommy was good with stuff like that.

She felt tears sting her eyes for the umpteenth time. "Dammit, Tommy," she whispered into the stillness. She was so tired.

The thing that was driving her crazy was just this helplessness… What the hell was she supposed to do with that? Her brother was out there somewhere. She'd heard him scream when Ellie was taking him away – heard the pain and the terror, and she hadn't been able to do a goddamn thing about it, then. Or now.

She stood up, got a beer from the fridge, and went to Jane's "secret" hiding place – a hidden panel in the wall that she was sure he thought she didn't know about – and pulled out all his files on Ellie and Red John. She took the stack of paperwork to the couch, and got to work.

Something in there had to lead her to Ellie.

_TBC_


	18. Chapter 18

_**Thanks again to everyone for your lovely reviews! Onto chapter 18: Tommy's been kidnapped, Jane's in jail, Lisbon's prowling 'round his apartment looking for clues... And believe it or not, things are about to get even more complicated for our favorite crime-fighting duo. Stay tuned for some quality Jisbon times in the next few chapters, starting now...  
><strong>_

_Chapter Eighteen_

Jane squished soggily to Brad the Intrepid Guard-Slash-Writer's front door, water pooling at his feet. He was shivering, and hungry, and not at all pleased at the latest turn of events. Thanks in no small part to the crooked deputy at the County jail he was, however, a free man. More or less. He knocked on Brad's door loudly.

There was no answer.

"I know you're in there – you're a writer with free room and board, there's no way you'd allow anyone to pry you out of there without a lengthy eviction process," he said through the door. "Let me in."

Still no answer.

On a whim, he tried the doorknob.

"Well, that's never good," he said to no one in particular, when the door opened easily.

The smell confirmed his suspicions. Jane cursed softly, his pulse rising as he took the stairs up to the third floor two at a time. If Brad was dead, and Lisbon had taken his suggestion to come here…

His apartment was locked, which Jane took as a good sign. When he entered, he smelled whiskey and the faint scent of cinnamon, the loft darkened but for a lamp on the nightstand beside his bed, all the way on the other side of the apartment.

Jane crept across the floor.

Ultimately, he thought he probably would have been less surprised to find Ellie lying in wait, than what he found instead: Lisbon, sleeping peacefully in his bed. His files of Red John and Ellie Jennings lay on the floor, which made him smile – Lisbon really was a crafty little thing. He had been certain that he'd hid that compartment well. Clearly, not well enough.

She slept in one of his shirts, her dark hair vivid against the white pillowcase. Jane was surprised that she didn't stir. That mystery was solved, however, when he saw the pain pills and whiskey on the nightstand. He frowned, picking up the pill bottle.

It appeared that she'd only taken a couple – enough to take the edge off and put her under, but not enough to do any serious harm.

"Good girl, Lisbon," he whispered softly.

He left her to continue sleeping, and went to change his clothes and pack.

They didn't have much time.

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, Jane had showered, changed into clean clothes, and packed enough food and clothing to sustain he and Lisbon for the next few days, since it appeared she'd brought nothing with her. Now, he just had to convince her to go along with his plan.<p>

He stood beside the bed for a moment, debating the wisdom of simply picking her up and carrying her to the car. He still had the mess with Brad to sort out, though, and – more importantly – the idea of Lisbon waking up mid-fireman's carry down his back stairs seemed like far too dangerous a proposition.

He sat gingerly at the edge of the bed, half-expecting her to spring awake and punch him in the nose again. She didn't stir, however. He thought of everything she had been through the night before – beginning with the damned dinner party, on through everything Ellie and her comrade-in-arms had done. If anyone deserved sleep at this moment, it was her.

It was just past midnight. A gentle breeze blew in off the water, cooling what was otherwise a very warm evening. Jane reached out and gently brushed Lisbon's hair from her forehead. Her skin was hot to the touch, her hair damp, and blood stained the bandage on her cheek. He frowned.

"Lisbon," he whispered. "Wake up – we have to go." She moaned softly in her sleep, but still didn't rouse.

"Come on, love – up we go." He pulled the blankets down just slightly – just enough to make a difference, while preserving her modesty. Not so much that he didn't notice a swell of creamy white breast peeking enticingly from the collar of her shirt, of course, but… Still, he gave himself points for effort.

"Uh – Lisbon, come on. I have a plan."

Her eyes fluttered open. For a moment she just lay there, disoriented, before comprehension reigned. The moment it had, she sat bolt upright, paying no mind whatsoever to the sheet that pooled at her waist or the way her night shirt – _Jane's _shirt, in point of fact – gaped wide in the front.

"Jane. What the hell - Why aren't you in jail?" Her eyes widened. She was out of bed in an instant. "You heard something. Did Ellie contact you?"

"Her henchman did – the same baboon who shanked me in prison, incidentally. And the same one you knocked sideways last night."

She found her phone and began to dial while he was mid-sentence. Jane hurried to her and caught her wrist.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think?" she demanded. "Cho needs to know what this guy said. What do they want? How long ago was this?"

Jane gently took the phone from her, set it down, and took her by the shoulders. He steered her backward, guiding her back to the bed.

"Slow down. Listen to me – we can't call them."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because it's not the way Ellie wants to play this, and at the moment she's holding all the cards."

To his surprise, Lisbon had no response to this. She just sat there, her brow furrowed – either in thought or pain, or perhaps some combination of the two.

"You're supposed to be in jail," she said, apropos of nothing.

"Would you believe they let me out for good behavior?"

She snorted. "Yeah, right." She looked at him, searching for something – though he wasn't certain what, precisely. "You met the guy – the one from last night?"

He nodded seriously. "You made quite an impression."

Seemingly unaware, her hand rose to touch her bloodied cheek. "Yeah, well… So did he." She got very quiet.

"We should go. Though…" He nodded toward her outfit, if for no other reason than to lighten the mood. "You may want to change first."

For the first time, she seemed to realize her state of undress. She flushed, closing the top of the shirt quickly.

"I only had what I was wearing, and I didn't want to go back to my place…"

He waved off the explanation. "I'm not complaining – you look quite fetching in my shirts. Feel free to wear them at any time. You just might want to add some pants before we hit the streets."

* * *

><p>While she was dressing, Jane told Lisbon about discovering Brad dead in the apartment below. He'd barely gotten the news out before he was barreling after her in the stairwell. Honest to goodness, the woman was impossible.<p>

She'd already charged through Brad's door by the time Jane got there.

Brad hadn't met nearly the kind of end that Kristina had – he'd at least managed to keep his head, poor man – but it still wasn't an appetizing scene. While Lisbon surveyed the damage, Jane began rummaging through in search of the item he'd come to Brad for in the first place, earlier that night. Instead, he found a notebook lying open on the dead writer's desk.

Three words were scrawled in blood across the top of the open page:

_No more cops. _

It wasn't the writing that held Jane's attention, however. Instead, it was the small cell phone and a particularly unsavory object lying neatly atop the spiral pad that held him captivated.

"Lisbon," he called to her. She looked up from her own investigation. "Check the body. Does Brad have his left thumb?"

"Yeah, why?"

A look of panic crossed her face the moment she understood the implication of his question. She crossed the room at a near-run, then stopped to stare at the bloody, severed thumb Jane had just discovered.

"Oh my god," she whispered.

"Lisbon, we don't know anything – "

"The hell we don't!" she shouted. "Look me in the eye and tell me that doesn't belong to my brother."

He couldn't. Her face had gone ashen. Jane was just preparing to usher her out of the room when the cell phone beside Ellie's morbid message, rang loudly. Lisbon picked it up before Jane could reach it. Within seconds, whatever color Lisbon might have had left had drained from her face completely.

"I need a pen," she whispered urgently.

He rummaged in the desk and found a pencil and a new notebook, then stood by as Lisbon scrawled an address on the page:

Miguel Angel  
>Loreto MEX<br>10 am – Sunday

"I want to talk to him," Lisbon said into the phone. "I'm not going anywhere until I know he's alive."

Jane leaned in closer to hear the conversation. A moment later, his stomach dropped at the unmistakable, chilling sound of a man screaming in the background. Lisbon looked as though she might pass out. She hung up the phone and tucked it into her jacket pocket, breathing shallowly for a moment before she turned her gaze to Jane once more, her eyes dark with fear and fury.

"We have to go," she said shortly. "She's watching us."

Jane was in full agreement – there was just one problem. "Clearly. But… Do you see a key ring here anywhere? There should be three keys on it." He looked around with a growing sense of desperation. "I put it somewhere, but I think Brad – "

"Jane – _now._" She grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the room with that freakish Lisbon strength that never failed to amaze him.

"Ow – dammit, woman, stop manhandling me." He batted her hands away as she shut the door behind them, already bound for the stairs. "I need – "

She held up his missing key ring. "These? You've got 'em. Now come on. Ellie said she wanted us out of the building in five minutes, or…"

She stopped, her eyes haunted. For a moment he thought she might be sick.

"We have to go," she finished simply.

Outside, he managed to make it to the driver's seat of her monstrous SUV before she could, surprised when she didn't argue. She was silent for the first ten minutes of the drive – locked somewhere that Jane knew from experience was not healthy. He tapped her hand, succeeding in getting her attention after a moment.

"You're the one who found the keys? How did you know?"

"Please," she said. It took obvious effort for her to pull herself back to the present, but Jane was relieved when she did so. She rolled her eyes. "Since when does Patrick Jane let a bunch of skate punks hustle him out of three hundred bucks?" she said, correctly harkening back to that day when he'd "fallen" off the Sacramento pier. "And you were in the water way longer than you needed to be, unless you were drowning. Which you weren't. I had a team go down there the next day."

He shook his head in wonder. "I underestimated you. I felt certain you bought that whole performance."

"Give me a break. You never do anything without a reason; that skateboard stunt was way too random. Wait – so that's why your prison clothes were soaking wet in the bathroom sink? You were swimming around the bay in the middle of the night trying to find those damn keys?" She smiled, just faintly. "You're an idiot."

"Apparently so."

She fell silent once more, and stared out the window. Jane could all but hear the darkness of her thoughts. When she spoke again, the strain she'd been under over the past twenty-four hours was painfully clear.

"Ellie said no more cops. She said she'd know." She swallowed roughly. "They're gonna cut off another finger, every time I screw up." Several seconds passed she broke the stillness with a harsh, pained laugh. "He's a damned electrician, you know? A good one, too, if he could just get his head out of his ass." She shook her head. "He won't come back from this... Even if Ellie doesn't kill him - which isn't likely. He's not strong enough to come back from something like this."

Jane smiled faintly. "I don't know... You'd be amazed the things people can survive."

Lisbon didn't respond. Several minutes passed before Jane reached over once again. This time, he twined his fingers with hers and squeezed gently.

"We'll find him, Teresa."

She nodded quickly, pushing his hand away. He glanced at her, but remained respectfully silent – recognizing that at the moment, she would rather be almost anywhere but trapped in a car with him, as the emotions he was sure she'd kept buried for the past twenty-four hours finally broke the surface. She wept silently, retreating to the far corner of her seat as they sped through the night, Jane's hands clenched tightly on the wheel.

* * *

><p>While Jane hadn't actually planned on running when he was first released from prison, he did like to keep his options open. Hence, the mysterious key ring he'd planted beneath a dock in the Sacramento bay, under the guise of an ill-advised skateboard stunt. Now, it took them an hour and a half to reach the locale where Jane could put those keys to use. By that time, Lisbon's tears had dried - though she remained quiet and withdrawn.<p>

Jane proceeded to drive them to one of the worst neighborhoods in East Oakland, pulled to the curb, and stopped the car. Lisbon came to quickly when she realized where they were. A group of teens watched from the opposite streetcorner, on high alert at the intrusion of a white couple in an expensive vehicle on their turf in the middle of the night.

"Jane, what the hell are you doing?"

"You have your gun?"

"Of course."

"Good. Take that one and whatever remaining pistols and grenades and throwing stars you might have stashed in the glove box, and let's go."

"But – "

He looked at her. They'd need to get this out of the way eventually – now was as good a time as any.

"You trust me?"

She hesitated. "I – "

"Lisbon, this is important. For the next several days, it's just you and me. I trust you with my life – I've done exactly that on more than one occasion. Now, you need to do the same." He did his best to convey the significance of his question, looking at her closely. "Now… Do you trust me?"

Another moment passed, before she finally nodded. "Yeah," she said quietly. "As much as anybody… Maybe more. I trust you."

He couldn't suppress his grin of pleasure at her admission. Oh, this was big.

"Excellent. Then gather your arsenal, and come with me."

* * *

><p>They left Lisbon's SUV unlocked on the curb. It was bound to be stripped within minutes anyway – no sense making it more difficult on the locals than it had to be. Jane nodded pleasantly to the surly youths watching their every move, and led he and Lisbon into the fray.<p>

They walked for well over a mile, the stillness of an unbearably warm July night broken by occasional gunshots, sirens, shouts, and screams. They kept to the shadows, Lisbon growing ever more withdrawn as their trek continued. She stumbled frequently, her usual athleticism hindered by exhaustion, shock, and what Jane feared was a nasty infection settling in the wound in her cheek. He hurried them along without coddling her because there was no time for coddling, but his concern grew with every passing moment.

In a back alley in the heart of Oakland, Jane withdrew his keys and unlocked a battered, half-hidden wooden door in the side of a graffiti-covered brick building. Lisbon didn't even comment when he turned on a light switch just inside the door to illuminate a cavernous garage filled with vehicles of every make, model, and description. He knew they were in trouble when she didn't even balk when he stopped beside a silver, 1964 Aston Martin and unlocked the passenger's side door for her.

"We still have a couple of hours before they realize I'm no longer in my cell," he explained. "And when they _do _realize I'm gone – and that, in fact, you've vanished as well – then, they'll be looking for something nondescript."

She merely nodded, not even bothering to question his admittedly shaky logic, and got in.

They drove south for nearly an hour before she spoke.

"You know where we're going?"

"Yeah – I've spent some time south of the border," he said. "Loreto's not much to write home about, but what it's lacking in charm it makes up for with a lively nightlife and a very active criminal element. It's a long drive, though. You should get some rest."

She leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes. The bloodstain on her bandage was getting larger, heat radiating from her as infection set in. Jane glanced at her with growing concern.

"We'll make a stop once we get closer to LA."

She didn't say anything, her eyes still closed. If she slept, Jane couldn't tell – she seemed to have drifted somewhere that he couldn't reach, pushed to the limit by everything that had transpired thus far, and all that they were about to face. Jane watched California pass by his window, one eye on Lisbon the entire time, and kept driving.

_TBC_

_**And... Things are about to heat up, kids, now that Jane and Lisbon have hit the highway. Next update will be on Thursday - be sure to hit that magic button below and let me know what you think of this latest development! **  
><em>


	19. Chapter 19

_**Wow - Thanks to everyone for your lovely words after the last chapter, I'm so glad you're all enjoying the story. We've got some new developments, a little H/C, and a glimpse into Jane's past for our next chapter. Hope you like it!**  
><em>

_Chapter Nineteen_

In the heart of LA at ten o'clock the next morning, Jane pulled to the curb outside a deserted nightclub and woke Lisbon. Her forehead was hot to the touch, her shirt damp with sweat, and her pupils were the size of nickels when she looked at him, confusion clear on her face.

"Where are we?"

"An old friend's," he explained. He may as well have been speaking a foreign language, for the understanding in her eyes.

"Is that a giant squid?" she finally managed, indicating the sign at the front of the club.

"Uh – there?" He looked at the enormous squid with the bulging eyes on the club's marquis, and couldn't resist. "You must be hallucinating. Come on, up you go."

"It looks like a squid." She squinted her red eyes at the sign as Jane ushered her out and helped her to her feet. "Where did you say we are?"

"Lisbon, you're very ill – there's no time to explain."

The instant she was out of the car, the color drained from her face. Her legs buckled, and Jane caught her quickly.

"Whoa – steady, my dear. We don't have far to go. Just take it slowly. One step at a time."

"Just a second," she said. She squeezed his arm as she struggled to regain her equilibrium. "I just – I just need a second, Jane."

Several passersby stared at them both – which was understandable, given the bloodstained bandage at Lisbon's cheek, in addition to the bruises and swelling and the fact that she was clearly on the verge of collapse. He leaned in, still supporting her with one hand as he spoke to her quietly.

"You said you trust me. Do you promise not to punch me in the nose again?"

"No," she said quickly. "Definitely not."

Of course not. Damnable woman.

"Right. Well, then… Can you walk?"

"I'm not crippled, Jane."

He'd never met anyone so infuriatingly stubborn in his life.

"All right, then. Show me – walk." He stepped clear of her, swooping in a moment later just before she hit the sidewalk.

"That's what I thought." He lifted her into his arms.

"Jane, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm carrying you. It's either that or you crawl. Do you feel like crawling?"

She had no response for that – that fact alone spoke volumes about the gravity of her condition. Heat radiated from her entire body. Within just a few steps, she'd gone limp in his arms. Jane hurried toward the entrance with a feeling much like panic crowding each breath.

At the nightclub entrance, a large bald man in a tuxedo stood in front of the door, arms crossed over his chest. He raised his eyebrows at sight of the battered woman in Jane's arms.

"You here for Emmett?"

Jane nodded.

The bald fellow stepped aside. "You know the way?"

"Still on the second floor?" Jane asked.

"Nah, we moved his act downstairs with the girls," he said. The slightest smile touched his lips.

Jane attempted an appreciative smile. "That's very funny. If you don't mind, I uh…" He nodded toward the woman in his arms.

"You want me to take her?"

"No – no, that's all right. But…"

His new friend got the door for him. "She doesn't look so good," he noted, eyeing Lisbon warily. "Emmett's had worse, I guess, but not in a while. Give me a shout if you need a hand."

Jane assured him that he would, and made his way inside. The club was darker than he remembered it, and showed a bit more wear than it had since he'd been here last. At least a decade had passed since then, however, so he supposed that was understandable. He waited for his eyes to adjust, then hurried past a handful of early morning patrons watching two tired-looking dancers gyrate to jarringly bad techno.

Lisbon still wasn't moving, her breathing shallow, sweat from her feverish frame dampening his shirt.

At the back of the club, he pushed through a beaded curtain and took a set of stairs carpeted in bright pink shag, up to the second floor. A woman with a beehive hairdo and cat's eye glasses sat at a desk beneath a large wooden sign picturing a pyramid and another giant squid. She looked up from her computer when he entered.

"You're Patrick?" she asked. She didn't look at all concerned that he was carrying an unconscious woman in his arms.

"Yeah. Emmett…?"

She nodded toward a door behind her. "Go on in. He's expecting you."

"Thank you," he breathed in relief.

Jane pushed open the door that Emmett's assistant had indicated just as Lisbon came to. She struggled in his arms until he was forced to set her down once more, then quickly supported her when she nearly passed out again.

"What the hell…?" she asked as she looked around, her feverish mind no doubt conjuring all manner of horrors to the scene before. Although, to be fair, she didn't really need to conjure all that much.

The room was painted a soothing seafoam green, with shelving along one entire wall containing jars of herbs and lizard testes and chicken claws, crystals and moon rocks and other delightful tools of the trade. A skeleton with a sign below proclaiming it to be the world's only true Merman rounded out the scene. In Lisbon's fevered state, Jane was sure she thought he'd taken her straight to Satan's lair.

Instead of Satan, however, Emmett Waters sat calmly drinking tea on a large throne-style chair on an altar set against one wall.

"Emmett – "

"Patrick!" The man glanced at his watch. "You made good time." He stood – though for Emmett that made little difference, as he was only four feet tall. Lisbon's eyes widened. She turned on her heel and attempted to flee.

Jane caught her by the elbow, taking care not to knock her over again. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I – " she blinked rapidly, shaking her head. She leaned in and whispered to him. "I don't like it here, Jane. I'll wait in the car."

"I don't think so. Two steps and you'll be on that shapely bottom of yours again." He held her by the forearm, keeping his distance should she decide to fight.

"And this is the friend you were telling me about on the phone?" Emmett asked, eyeing Lisbon curiously.

Lisbon swallowed thickly. Emmett was dressed in one of his more colorful outfits –a sequined, aquamarine three-piece suit that Elton John would have found flamboyant, topped with a bejeweled turban. The little man grabbed his spectacles from the table and put them on.

"Head trauma?" he asked.

Jane nodded. "A concussion, night before last. The trouble's with her cheek, though – a knife wound that I believe may be infected. Honestly, Lisbon, you're being dramatic," he said to her when she tensed beside him, looking around wildly for the nearest escape route.

"Where do you want us?" he asked Emmett.

Emmett nodded toward an open door on their right. "Just get her in the chair – I'll be right in."

Jane draped an arm 'round Lisbon's shoulders and shepherded her inside. At sight of the tapestry with another giant squid shrouding one wall, and the tray of medieval-looking instruments beside what had probably been a dentist's chair in a former life, Lisbon's attempts to escape became considerably more fervent.

"We should go, Jane. I'm okay – really, I am. I don't think we should stay here."

"Don't be such a baby, Lisbon. Honestly. Come on – Emmett was a highly respected surgeon in his time."

"He's a midget," she whispered to him loudly.

"The preferred term is 'little person,' actually," he said. "Little people can't be surgeons?"

"Why is there a giant squid on his wall?"

He shook his head. "I don't know what it is with you and these squid all of a sudden – it's a little weird. Just trust me… You're going to be fine."

Since Lisbon didn't appear to be close to complying with his wishes, Jane picked her up and set her in the chair himself. Rather than fight him or attempt to get up again, she just sat there looking dazed – as though she wasn't entirely sure where she was or how she'd gotten there.

Jane stood beside her as Emmett clambered into the room and dragged a stepladder over to the side of the chair with the instruments laid out.

"You're a doctor?" Lisbon asked in a tremulous voice, her eyes wide.

Emmett smiled, raising an eyebrow at Jane. "Of course I am, dear. Now, let's just see what we have happening under that bandage, shall we?"

Her expression had gone beyond panic to stark terror. Jane stepped in and took her hand, setting aside his cavalier attitude for a moment.

"Lisbon, look at me."

A second or two passed before she shifted her gaze from Emmett to Jane. Her eyes were bloodshot, the left still swollen from the attack the other night. He felt a surge of genuine sympathy for her plight.

"It's going to be all right. Now, close your eyes." She did so after a moment of indecision, her hand tightening around his. "You're back at the Caldwell lily pool. Can you feel the sun on your face?"

She nodded slightly.

Jane continued talking as Emmett removed the bandage from Lisbon's cheek. He winced and averted his gaze, but kept his voice steady as Emmett probed the wound and then prepared an injection. Within minutes, Lisbon was unconscious.

Emmett set himself up on a stool beside his patient's chair, and set about cleaning and re-closing the wound. Once he'd started working, he looked up at Jane with a knowing smile.

"She's out now – it'll be another few hours before she comes to. Why don't you go help yourself to some tea, maybe get a shower? There's food in the fridge."

"I will," Jane agreed. He hesitated. "But I… I think I'll just wait another few minutes. Just to make sure she doesn't wake again."

His old friend nodded with a faint smile. "Like that, is it? Well… Good for you, I say. It's about time."

Jane didn't bother correcting him. Instead, he pulled a chair up beside Lisbon and continued to hold her hand, watching the doctor work his magic.

* * *

><p>Once Emmett had finished tending to Lisbon, Jane carried her to the apartment's spare bedroom – a tiny alcove minimally furnished with a double bed that took up most of the space, and a ceiling fan whirring quietly above. He tucked her in, noting with some relief that her forehead was already cooler, her body lacking the listlessness that had marked the fever before.<p>

He ate and showered and then, at just after two that afternoon, he went downstairs to the club and borrowed a cell phone from one of the dancers. Then, he found the quietest corner he could in a not-terribly-quiet club, and called Cho.

"It's me," Jane said, after Cho said hello.

"Why's my caller ID say somebody named Jade Kissmet is calling?" Cho asked.

"Long story."

"Not the best alias. You wouldn't know anything about why Lisbon's SUV was found stripped to the frame in Oakland this morning, would you?"

Jane hesitated. "I just wanted to call and let everyone know Lisbon's all right."

"And Tommy?"

"Eh… We're working on that. I may need your help."

To his credit, Cho didn't hang up on him.

* * *

><p>Finally, at three o'clock, Jane realized he had to get some sleep or he'd never be able to handle everything that needed doing in the next seventy-two hours. He found Emmett in his kitchen with a fresh cup of tea, poring over a week-old issue of the LA Times.<p>

"We won't be staying much longer, but I thought I might get a little shut-eye myself," he said.

Emmett nodded his approval. "Good. You look like you're about to drop. Wake-up call?"

"I'll be fine, thanks. So… Do you have a couch, or…"

The little man just grinned, clucking his tongue like an old woman. "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick. It's nice to see you've gotten no less prudish in your old age. I'm not running a hotel here – I've got the one spare room. This is a business, I can't have random strangers sleeping hither and yon."

Jane nodded, his cheeks warming slightly. "Right, of course. It's no problem. I'll just…"

Emmett waited, obviously curious as to what, exactly, Jane would do. When it was clear that he had no intention of giving in, Jane shrugged.

"Right. Well, then… I'll see you in a few hours." He started to walk out, then turned at the last moment. "Emmett, I just want you to know that I truly am grateful for your help. You didn't have to see me…"

Emmett responded with a bubble of laughter that echoed in Jane's memory – a laugh that used to send Charlotte into gales of giggles, while Emmett and Angie entertained them all with stories of their shared childhoods.

"I _wanted _to see you, Patrick. You've done your penance. Even Danny thinks so – and if Danny could forgive you, then I guess the rest of us don't have much right to hold a grudge. Now, go get some rest. Take care of your girl. I'll be here when you wake up."

Jane fled gratefully.

* * *

><p>Lisbon was still sleeping soundly when he came into the room. The curtains were drawn, casting everything in shadow. For a moment, Jane simply stood at the door. If it weren't so hot, he could simply sleep in the car. The room was so small that there wasn't even any floor space to speak of, so that wasn't an option. He shook his head.<p>

Why should this be so difficult? He was an adult. Lisbon wouldn't care – he knew that much about her. If she were awake, she'd laugh at him for making such a big deal of it in the first place.

Despite the ceiling fan, the room was stiflingly warm. Lisbon wore a pair of his boxers and a tank top; in the heat, even that much clothing seemed excessive. He went into the bathroom with his bag, changed into pajama bottoms and t-shirt, and studied himself in the mirror. He looked tired. A changed man from the one Emmett had seen when they met last, ten years ago. Sometimes, he wondered what Angie would see, if she saw him now. Would she even recognize him?

He twisted his wedding ring, and took a breath. There was no reason to feel guilty about this. Jesus. He wasn't even doing anything… He didn't know how he could still feel married, widowed now for eight years. Didn't know how he could still feel more natural with a child in his arms than without; more tied to a home he rarely set foot in anymore than the places he frequented everyday.

What would Lisbon say about all this? _Jeez, Jane, get a grip. I'm not gonna jump you in your sleep. Just get some rest. _He smiled, feeling inexplicably lighter at the thought of her voice. He got a grip, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and went to lie down.

Lisbon barely stirred when he crawled into bed. For the first twenty minutes or so, Jane held himself rigidly on one side of the bed, his hands folded on his stomach, his gaze fixed on the ceiling fan as it whirred. Lisbon sighed, and rolled over so that she was facing him. He could see the scar on her shoulder from the recent shooting, larger than he'd expected, still pink and angry looking. Despite the bruises and bandage, her face – or her expression, at least – looked peaceful. Jane wondered if he hadn't ought to have requested a bit of whatever Emmett had given Lisbon, for himself.

Half an hour in, Jane started to relax. He closed his eyes, willing himself to focus on the sound of the fan and Lisbon's even breathing. Truth be told, he didn't actually expect to sleep – not with Tommy missing and Ellie planning god only knew what. Not in a strange bed, with Lisbon lying beside him wearing nothing but his underwear… No. Sleep seemed like too much to hope for, given the circumstances.

Shockingly enough, he did sleep.

When he awoke, it was to the smell of cinnamon and cloves, and the feel of a woman's hand on his chest, her body curled into his own. He opened his eyes to find Lisbon sleeping soundly in his arms. The sun was just going down, the room aglow with the soft, golden hue of sunset. A cool breeze blew in through the open window, riffling Lisbon's hair until it tickled his nose.

It had been years since he'd slept like this with anyone. He held himself rigid for a moment, not certain exactly what to do. If he got up, he might wake her… Besides which, if he could get another hour's sleep, he should probably do so. He took a deep breath, and forced himself to relax once more.

There was a vast difference between Awake Lisbon and Sleeping Lisbon. She seemed so peaceful this way, and once again he found himself pleased by her paradoxes. Hesitantly, he reached down and stroked the hair back from her forehead, then let his hand come to rest at the back of her head, drifting down from there to caress her bare shoulders. He waited for the old guilt to come back, the itch at his ring finger, the anxiety bordering on panic.

He felt none of it. Strangely enough, lying there with Lisbon in his arms seemed more natural than he'd imagined he would ever feel about holding a woman again. He let that reality sink in for a moment, processing the implications. And then, when he found that he didn't have the energy or the will to process any longer, he closed his eyes and let sleep reclaim him for a while longer.

When he woke again, it was with the realization that he was in a strange bed, and the person beside him not only was not his wife, but was also no longer sleeping. It was now fully dark, the neon signs outside glowing a faint pink and green through the thin curtains. Lisbon had just woken, based on the bleary way she looked at him from the opposite pillow.

"Where are we?" she whispered, in a whiskey-in-the-morning sort of a voice. He smiled at the sound. She didn't seem in any rush to get up.

He rolled onto his side and looked at her, pillowing his head on his arm. "We're in L.A. – I had to stop to get you some medical attention. You weren't doing that well."

She nodded at the memory. "Yeah. I was pretty out of it for a while there. I feel better now, I think." Physically, she did appear to be much better; emotionally, she looked more fragile than she had in some time.

Jane reached out and placed the back of his hand on her forehead, curious as to what her reaction might be. She remained where she was, watching his movement warily.

"You don't feel like you have a fever anymore. Emmett has some antibiotics you'll need to take."

"Are we still on schedule?" she asked. A hint of the old urgency crept back into her tone. He nodded before she could get herself worked up.

"We're fine," he said soothingly. "Emmett has a contact in border patrol, so we're waiting until he's on before we cross into Mexico. We should get up, though – I want Emmett to take a look at you before we go."

She didn't move. Jane waited for her to say or do something – it was clear from the look on her face that something was on her mind. Finally, she moved in closer to him, ever so slightly. She refused to meet his eye.

"Can we stay like this, for just a minute?" she asked, her voice so quiet it didn't even sound like Lisbon. She blushed furiously the moment he met her gaze, and then hurriedly scrambled to get up.

"Sorry, forget it – that was stupid. I must still be a little out of it. We've gotta – "

He tugged her gently back into bed and pulled her close.

"Jane! What the hell?" Knowing her as he did, it was clear that her protests were purely token. She didn't even struggle to get away from him.

"I'm glad you're all right," he whispered into her hair.

She didn't move, her body tensed against him – holding onto something that, he knew, she would need to let go before they went any further.

"We'll get him back, Lisbon. This isn't your fault."

She very slowly, very carefully draped her arm over his side – as though she were attempting some daredevil stunt. Jane smiled wryly. To Lisbon, this was no doubt far more terrifying than the worst shootout or car chase. Her head rested just below his chin, so that he could feel her warm breath on his neck.

When her tears came this time, she didn't retreat. Instead, she wept quietly, her arms tightening around his middle, tears borne of exhaustion and pain and uncertainty. Jane stroked her hair, murmuring nonsensical reassurances that gradually quieted her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so connected to another person, so comforted by their presence.

It occurred to him then, for the first time, that his feelings for Lisbon might prove more complicated than he had ever anticipated.

When her crying had stopped and Lisbon was slowly coming to herself once more, he felt her shift in his arms. "Jane?" she said, her breath warm on his neck.

"Mm hmm?"

"Why are there giant squid on all the curtains?"

He patted her head. "Hush, dear. That's just the drugs talking."

* * *

><p>It was just past eleven o'clock when Jane and Lisbon emerged from the bedroom, freshly showered and in clean clothes. Lisbon had become predictably withdrawn since her breakdown in his arms, and even more prickly than usual. He suspected that, should something develop between them, this would be the way he should expect things to go: one step forward, a punch in the nose, and two steps back. Slow and painful progress, true, but better than none at all. And Jane did enjoy a challenge.<p>

Not that he was thinking of Lisbon in that light, of course.

Emmett was back on his throne in the main area when Jane led Lisbon in. She looked around as though she feared she'd lapsed back into delirium – particularly when Emmett toddled over to greet her cheerfully.

"Well, you're certainly looking better than you were," he said. "Dr. Emmett Waters at your service. It's a real pleasure to meet you."

Lisbon shook his hand politely. "Thank you for everything that you did," she said. She gestured to her freshly bandaged cheek. "I don't know what we would have done…"

"Always glad to help an old friend," he said. "Now – you'll need to be on the road by twelve, I expect, but let's get you fed first. I've got dinner in the kitchen. And a special treat." He grinned widely at Jane, who felt a most definite twinge of uneasiness.

"Emmett, we really don't have time – "

"Nonsense!" Emmett dismissed his protests with a wave of his hand. "Who doesn't have time for pictures?"

Lisbon's face brightened immediately. "Pictures? Of Jane?"

"Pictures of the Amazing Patrick Jane," Emmett corrected her. "In tights!"

Jane merely groaned. Clearly, Emmett hadn't completely forgiven him yet.

* * *

><p>"Oh my God," Lisbon exclaimed over yet another picture from Emmett's seemingly endless collection. "Did you get all your fashion advice from New Kids on the Block, Jane?"<p>

"I'll have you know that that was the style at the time," he said.

While the game had been fun at first, he was beginning to feel just a bit picked on. She held the picture out for him to see – this particular shot featuring Jane at sixteen, his curly hair close-cropped, wearing sunglasses and a vest with nothing beneath. The outfit was completed with stone-washed jeans pegged at the cuffs. He laughed aloud.

"I didn't say it was a _good _style."

"At least I know where the whole vest thing started," she quipped.

"You think you're funny now, but wait until I get hold of a few photographs from your childhood. Then we'll see who has the last laugh. How many mullets are in Teresa Lisbon's past?"

"No way – Sorry, Jane. Trust me, all the pictures from my childhood are stashed safely away from prying eyes. Specifically yours."

"We'll see about that."

While they were trading barbs, Emmett had grown silent. Jane looked up to find him gazing at one particular photo, clearly hesitant to bring it out. Lisbon fell silent as well, sensing the sudden tension. Jane felt that old heaviness lay claim to his heart. Instead of pushing it aside, however, he nodded toward the picture.

"Bring it out. I haven't seen that in years."

Emmett handed it to Jane. He smiled sadly.

He'd been about nineteen at the time. Angie stood beside him in a pretty summer dress, her hair swept up, caught mid-laugh when the shot was taken. Emmett was between them, an arm draped over each of their shoulders. Jane handed the picture to Lisbon, after a moment's consideration.

"She was so beautiful," Lisbon said quietly.

Jane nodded. "She was."

"Prettiest girl on the circuit," Emmett agreed. "You remember when that was taken?"

"Our last day in the carnival," Jane said immediately. "We ran away that night."

"And you knew about it?" Lisbon said to Emmett.

He nodded. "I was the only one. They would've kept me out of the loop, too, but – "

"Oh, that's a lie," Jane interrupted. "You know Angie could never keep anything from you."

"So, you guys grew up together in the carnival?" Lisbon asked.

"Not blondie here," Emmett said. "He was an interloper who came along when Angie and I were… What, fourteen, maybe?"

Jane merely nodded, still studying the photograph.

"We had things wired, but then along comes this cocky sixteen-year-old whose daddy wants to hitch his wagon to our circuit. Patrick here thought they could do better – he was fighting him every step of the way, 'til he lays eyes on little Miss Angela Ruskin. Once they saw each other, that was it. The rest of the world might as well've just faded away."

Jane put the photo down and looked at Lisbon. "He's being melodramatic."

She gave him a sad, knowing smile. "Somehow I doubt that."

Emmett got up abruptly, sweeping all of the pictures carefully back into his box. "You know what I thought when I saw you, Teresa?"

Lisbon raised an eyebrow. "Do I wanna know?"

He laughed endearingly. Jane was getting a bad feeling about the direction of the conversation.

"I thought, 'Well, I'll be damned. If he'd custom ordered somebody, he couldn't have found a woman more different than Angie.'"

"Emmett – " Jane began.

"We're just friends," Lisbon said quickly.

"Save the party line, kids," Emmett said, with a wave of his little hand. "I'm just saying, it's good. You're strong, you're independent, and I'd wager you can give old Patrick here a run for his money in the personal scars department. You don't take his shit, and you don't let him get away with excuses. Plus, you're cute as a bug in a rug – even when your face looks like it's been run through a meat grinder. That's saying something."

Lisbon had gone from a slight dusky rose to a deep pink. She cleared her throat.

"Thanks, but… Like I said, we're just friends. There's nothing going on between us – _seriously_."

Emmett said nothing, looking at her as though her words were too foolish to dignify with a response.

She looked at Jane pleadingly. "We – uh, isn't it time we get going, Jane?"

Jane leapt to his feet. "Yeah. Absolutely."

"I'll just go, uh – freshen up," she gestured toward the restroom.

"Good. I'll get the car packed, and meet you downstairs."

She hurried out of the room. Before Jane could flee to the car, he directed a pointed glare at Emmett.

"You never could just let things alone, could you?"

"Me?" his old friend asked innocently. "I don't know what you mean, I'm sure. Before you go, though…"

"Oh, you have more advice for me, now?"

"Just… Go easy with that one," Emmett cautioned. He got serious again. "There's something about her I like – even if she is a cop. She's got a big heart. Take care of it."

"You have to stop that," Jane said. He leaned down a bit so he could look the other man in the eye. "I'm serious, now. You say one more word like that, and you'll scare her right out the door. Lisbon has to be handled a certain way."

"So you're _handling_ her now, are you?"

Jane straightened with a frown. "You're such a child."

Emmett grinned sunnily. "Admittedly so. Now, off with you, I've got things to do. Be safe. Teresa's bandage needs changing twice a day, no exceptions. Save whoever it is you need to save, do whatever needs doing. And don't forget to make time to kiss the girl."

Jane merely rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he turned to go. Once he was facing the opposite direction, however, he couldn't help a tentative smile. Mexico awaited, Lisbon was doing better, and – unbeknownst to her – the cavalry was waiting in the wings. If nothing else, the next few days would not be dull.

_TBC_

_**Phew... Long chapter! The next installment will be up on Sunday: Mexico, an unfortunate conversation with Ellie Jennings, and one Very Drunk Lisbon. Don't forget to drop a note to let me know what you thought, and thanks as always for reading!  
><strong>_


	20. Chapter 20

_**Thanks so much for the fabulous feedback on the latest chapter! We see a little forward movement on most fronts - though perhaps a step backward in getting Tommy back safely... Either way, we're definitely entering the final stretch of our story. So, without further ado, I bring you...**  
><em>

_Chapter Twenty_

Though Jane had deeply regretted doing so, he left the Aston Martin in Emmett's able hands, trading it in for something a bit more nondescript. Emmett's idea of nondescript and Jane's idea of nondescript, unfortunately, were markedly different – his old friend stuck them with a beaten-down Chevy pickup truck with a barely functional air conditioner, worn shocks, and a terrible radio.

It was clear from the outset that it would not be a good trip.

They crossed into Mexico without incident at just after three a.m. Friday morning. The drive from LA to Loreto was nearly thirty hours in optimal conditions – and they were admittedly not facing optimal conditions, particularly since they were forced to stick to less well-traveled roads in order to avoid the police. Jane knew a few shortcuts along the way, however, and by his calculations they still had plenty of time to get to Ellie's appointed destination within the timeframe she had designated.

Lisbon alternately slept and stared out the window in stony silence for most of the night. At ten o'clock that morning, the sun was up, the air conditioning was shot, and the cab of their pickup was blazing. Lisbon sighed and moaned and tossed and turned until Jane looked over at her with eyebrows raised.

"You know, you can sigh all you want, but it won't get us there any faster."

"Let me drive. I feel like I'm on some carnival ride with you – are you aiming for every pothole in the road? Jesus, it's hot."

"Look on the bright side, Lisbon – at least the heat's from the weather now, instead of your insides cooking with fever. That's something, isn't it?"

She barely grumbled a response.

"Why don't you change into one of those outfits Emmett's friend loaned you?" he suggested. "It's no wonder you're warm – jeans and a t-shirt are too much clothing for a day like today."

"You're one to talk. What the hell are doing in a suit?"

She was right, actually. At the moment, he was in his usual work attire, though he'd set the jacket aside some time ago. Rolling up his shirtsleeves hardly provided any relief at all in the heat of the day, and he felt damp and cooked and utterly uncomfortable.

"We'll just have to make do for a bit longer – there's a little resort town I thought we could stop in tonight, and then we'll head out refreshed tomorrow morning. We'll easily be in Loreto by Saturday evening. Here – take the wheel for me."

He'd no sooner said it than he let go of the steering wheel, forcing Lisbon to dive across the bench seat to keep them from heading into oncoming traffic – which at the moment consisted only of a decrepit VW bus barreling along at an alarming rate.

"Jane!"

He deftly unbuttoned his vest and shirt, and neatly folded them while Lisbon continued to steer and curse at him. Stripped to his t-shirt once more, he felt better immediately. He took the wheel again, and nodded toward Lisbon.

"All right – your turn. What about those cute little cutoffs she gave you? I expect those would be very flattering."

"Yeah, right. Because I _want _to show my ass cheeks to all of Mexico. It figures that the only women your friend would know would be strippers."

"They did look a bit short," Jane agreed reluctantly. "What about that summer dress – the little cotton number? That would certainly be cooler than what you're wearing."

She pouted, contemplating this. He kept one eye on the road and one on her, amused at the way she scanned the horizon for a likely stopping point. Before she could ask, he preempted her request.

"If I can change while driving, you can certainly change while riding. Go on… It's not as though we have any secrets any longer."

He glanced at her with a devilish grin. She blushed to the roots of her auburn tresses, gazing at him with murder in her pretty green eyes.

"I hate you."

"Oh, nonsense. Who else would break out of jail, steal vehicles, and risk his life and freedom to save your prodigal brother? Face it, Lisbon – you love me."

She did her best to dash the smile playing at the corner of her lips, choosing instead to busy herself with changing. Jane didn't miss it, however. While he continued driving them ever southward, she dug through their things until she found the clothing Emmett's very sweet stripper friend had provided.

"Don't peek," she instructed.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

After a good bit of thrashing – and only one or two entirely inadvertent glances on Jane's part – Lisbon managed to get out of her old clothes and into the surprisingly demure summer dress Jade had given her. He watched in amusement as she wrestled with the hem.

"Problems?"

"I'm at least six inches shorter than Jade, and this thing barely reaches mid-thigh. What the hell did she use it for, a belly shirt?"

"You're being dramatic – it's almost to your knees. And it's actually quite becoming."

"Yeah, the blue really brings out the purple in my bruises."

He fell silent, out of ideas as to how he might placate her. After a few more miles of driving with nothing but a static-filled Mexican radio station to keep them company, she suddenly touched his arm.

"I'm sorry."

He glanced at her, then turned back to the road. "You're not a very good traveling companion," he noted.

"I know – I've been a complete bitch from the time we left L.A, and you've done nothing but try and help me through this whole thing. So… From here on out, I'll try to be nicer."

He suppressed a grin, already wagering in his head just how long this new leaf might last. Half an hour, tops. Though if he committed himself to the task, he had no doubt he could break her resolution in mere minutes. Not that he wanted to do that, of course. Still… It was such a dull ride.

"Have you spent much time in Mexico?" she asked politely. Her legs were folded beneath her, and she'd put her hair up in a becomingly messy bun, soft tendrils of hair framing her face. Bruises aside, she actually looked quite pretty.

"Oh, you know," he said vaguely. "What about you?"

"I've been to Tijuana a couple times. And there was a training retreat I went to in Puerto Vallarta a few years back. What do you mean, 'oh, you know'? Obviously I don't know, or I wouldn't have asked. What about this place you want to stop at?"

The truck hit a particularly deep pothole just then, jolting Lisbon so hard that she bumped her head on the roof of the truck. Jane looked at her ruefully as she rubbed her temple.

"Sorry."

"When was the last time you were there?"

God, the woman was relentless.

"When was the last time I was where?"

She glared at him. He glanced at his watch discreetly. Less than six minutes had passed since her vow to be more pleasant.

"Los Mochis," he said, "is where we're going." He paused, not certain how much he cared to share. "After Angela and Charlotte were killed, I spent some time in Mexico – just traveling, exploring the coast. Looking for…" He stopped. It was difficult to explain. Lisbon merely nodded.

"Trying to climb out of the bell jar," she said.

He glanced at her, unable to conceal his surprise.

"What – you don't think I've been there?"

"No," he said, after a moment's thought. "I just wouldn't have thought…"

"I'd get the reference?"

"Don't get so defensive, Lisbon. Sylvia Plath just seems a bit… depressive, for you. Despite your understandably sour state at the moment, you generally strike me as someone who prefers a more positive outlook."

"Yeah, well… I had to read it in high school," she admitted reluctantly. "And you're right – it was a little dark for my taste."

Despite being bound for the coast, the route Jane had chosen was a bit inland – the result being miles of barren landscape, broken only by the occasional deserted-looking town, or the rare gas station. They fell in behind an aged camper van barely breaking thirty miles an hour. Jane downshifted and sped out in front.

"You're sure we have time to stop somewhere tonight?" she finally asked, as he pulled back into the right lane. Lisbon was gripping the dashboard, clearly taking great pains not to criticize his driving.

"We have to sleep somewhere – I'm certainly not up for spending the next twenty hours in this truck. Are you?"

She shook her head sullenly. "God, no. We just can't be late."

Their reasonably peaceful streak lasted until three o'clock that afternoon. Jane had just taken the wheel again, after a fitful nap with Lisbon at the helm. The instant the cell phone Ellie Jennings had left for them rang, they both sprang to attention. Jane answered before Lisbon had a chance, putting it on speaker without being prompted.

"That was quite a detour last night," Ellie began, the moment Jane said hello. "I was beginning to worry."

"We're still on schedule," Jane said calmly. "It wouldn't have been necessary if your friend had left Agent Lisbon here in better condition."

Ellie chuckled, her voice almost musical. "That was unfortunate. It was your doing, though, Teresa – you'd do well to learn here and now that fighting Jack almost never makes things easier on a person. Particularly women… He's a bit of a brute, unless you know how to handle him."

"I want to talk to Tommy again," Lisbon interrupted before the conversation could go any further.

"I don't know," Ellie said. "He's not doing that well, I'm afraid. Though I believe he's looking forward to seeing you."

"Please," Lisbon said. "Just let me talk to him."

Seconds later, there was a choked gasp on the line – as though someone had just been splashed with cold water.

"Terri?" Tommy's voice came over the line. Any peace Lisbon had shown over the course of the day vanished. She was near tears, her eyes frantic. When she spoke, however, her voice was astonishingly controlled.

"I want you to do whatever she tells you, okay, Tommy? Don't try anything – just wait for me, you got it?"

"You don't have to fight my battles for me anymore, Sis – "

The sentence was cut off as Ellie took the phone.

"We're keeping him comfortable, of course – but you know how it is," Ellie said.

Jane glanced at Lisbon again. Whatever was coming next wouldn't be good, he had no doubt. Sure enough, Ellie laughed brightly before she continued.

"It's always hard to know with junkies – how much is too much, how much is too little. I suppose all you can do is hand over the needle and hope for the best. We thought we lost him last night, but here he is – back again, good as ever. More or less."

"Look, you psychotic bitch," Lisbon bit out. Jane looked at her in alarm. "You think this is really gonna go your way? If you hurt my brother…"

She fell silent at Ellie's laughter.

"She's quite the spitfire, isn't she, Patrick?"

Jane put his hand on Lisbon's knee, attempting to quiet her.

"You think I haven't put together what's going on here?" Lisbon continued. Jane pulled over to the side of the road.

"Lisbon," he warned.

"What's going on with what, exactly?" Ellie asked. There was an edge to her voice now, the easy control of before clearly being pushed to its limits.

"You visited Kristina Frye before you killed her – a few times, actually," Lisbon continued. "You were trying to contact Red John – but you couldn't do it. That whole crazy scene, the way you cut Kristina into pieces… You lost it. Because as much as you cared about Red John - "

"Lisbon!" Jane cut her off. It was too late, though – the damage had been done. He could tell by the silence on the other end of the line. So could Lisbon. Her face had gone ghastly white, her eyes wide as she realized the implications of her loss of control.

"Jack!" Ellie called, as though to someone else in the room. "Bring Mr. Lisbon to me."

"No!" Lisbon shouted, the word wrested from somewhere deep. "I'm sorry – Please," she begged. "You can have me, as soon as we get there. Do whatever you want to me."

"Ellie, listen to me," Jane attempted to intervene.

"No! You listen to me, Patrick, and listen well. This is my game – not yours."

Before he could hang up the phone, there was a sickening sound – soft and wet, like someone carving meat, followed by a protracted scream. The line went dead.

They sat in the cab of the truck in stunned silence, Jane's usual composure at its breaking point.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded. "I told you – she has the cards. You nod, smile pleasantly, tell her whatever she needs to hear – "

"I know," she said. "You're right, it was stupid." Her voice had gone dead, her eyes glazed with shock. He would have given anything if she'd fought him on the point. Jane's anger subsided as he watched her struggle for breath. "She's gonna kill him."

Before he could respond, Lisbon leapt out of the truck and ran as far from the sound of her brother's torture as she could get. He looked away as she stopped at a palm several yards from the truck, bent, and heaved the meager food she'd eaten over the course of their travels, onto the dusty ground.

If it were anyone else, Jane would have been dying to run the other way - he loathed forming deep attachments, despised emotional displays. Lisbon, however, seemed to be the exception to that rule. He waited patiently in the truck, giving her the space she needed. Not for the first time, he considered what it would do to Lisbon if her brother didn't make it out of this alive – a very likely scenario, given the conversation they'd just had with Ellie.

Lisbon pulled herself together and returned to the truck, her back straight, a new spark of determination in her eyes. She retrieved a bottled water from the back of the truck, rinsed her mouth, and spat. Then, she looked at Jane.

"Whether Tommy lives or dies, I'm not stopping until this bitch is behind bars," she said.

Despite everything, Jane felt himself lighten at her words. It was the old Lisbon – tough as nails, a staunch believer in freedom and justice and the power of positive thinking. He smiled.

"That's my girl. Now, in you go. Just a few more miles and you'll be able to smell the ocean."

He put the truck in gear and got them out on the open road once more. They'd only been driving a few moments before he felt Lisbon's hand on his. He glanced at her, but she wouldn't meet his gaze - never acknowledging what he knew was a momentous step for her. She wasn't feverish; she wasn't placating him; he wasn't the one reaching out. No. This time, Lisbon was the one seeking comfort. He squeezed her fingers gently, running his thumb along the back of her hand. They traveled that way in silence - their hands intertwined, resting lightly on the gear shift between them - as Jane drove them onward, toward the healing sea.

* * *

><p>They reached Los Mochis at just past seven that night, cruising along a stretch of palm-lined highway with the deep blue Pacific now in sight. It had been a dark four hours of driving despite Lisbon's roadside epiphany, with little conversation to lighten the mood. By the time they crossed the city limits into the little resort town Jane had frequented over the past several years, he was aching to get out, stretch his legs, and get a break from all that tension.<p>

Even in July, Friday evening in Los Mochis had a festive air. Jane chose one of the more expensive hotels on the main strip, explaining that they would have no such options in Loreto. Despite Lisbon's protests, he insisted on the two of them sharing a room, explaining the decision away by saying he didn't have enough cash on hand to justify another option. Lisbon wasn't fooled, however – he simply didn't want her on her own tonight, and she knew it full well. The fact that she didn't argue the point made it clear that she wasn't keen on being alone, herself.

Their third-floor room consisted of two single beds, a large television, bath, and a balcony looking out over the water. Lisbon claimed the shower first, while Jane turned the air conditioning to high, called for room service, and flopped down on the bed closest to him. His back and shoulders ached, but otherwise he found himself faring quite well. He'd never minded a good road trip, really… He just wished the circumstances for this one were different. In the right frame of mind, he was willing to bet that Lisbon would be a fun travel mate.

The woman in question came out twenty minutes later with a towel wrapped around her, her skin glistening from the shower. Jane did his level best to avert his eyes as she selected one of his clean shirts from his suitcase and returned to the bathroom.

"Why don't we take a walk around town after I've showered," he suggested, calling after her. "Between Jade and I, we've hardly given you the best choices, wardrobe-wise. We could pick something up at one of the local shops."

"I don't need anything," she replied, calling through the bathroom door. Still… At least she'd spoken. That was some improvement.

"Oh, come on. I'll buy. We'll have some dinner, pick out something new..."

"Right. Because I've gotta look my best when I go pick up whatever pieces of Tommy are left on Sunday."

He wasn't quite certain how to respond to that. After a second or two, he decided on levity. "Well… They say there's an outfit for every occasion. This would certainly test that theory."

To his relief, Lisbon actually laughed dryly. "It could be a whole new line this fall. Kidnap couture."

"I can see the runways now," Jane mused.

Their banter was cut abruptly short by what sounded like a cry of pain coming from the bathroom, followed by a crash and a series of curses.

Jane got up quickly and knocked on the door. "Lisbon, you're supposed to save the strenuous activity for Sunday. What on earth are you doing in there, woman?"

The door opened an instant later. The towel she'd been wearing had been replaced with his dress shirt, hanging about mid-thigh. The bandage on her cheek was half-on and half-off, though it appeared that while trying to remove it she'd torn the skin. He shook his head.

"I told you you should have let me do that this morning," he said. "Come on, now – in you go."

He ushered her into the bathroom, where several bottles of trial size shampoo had been hurled across the room in her frustration. He managed to avoid smiling – if only to save himself from her wrath – but couldn't help shaking his head at her.

"How are those anger management classes coming along?"

"Bite me. Can you help me or not?"

"I can certainly try." The bathroom was spacious and well-equipped, with a long vanity and two sinks. Jane patted the countertop. "Here – hop up."

To his surprise, she did so without argument. He tucked her hair – still wet from the shower – behind her ear, situated himself at her left side, and studied the bandage.

"Just pull it off, Jane."

"It may sting."

"No kidding. Just do it already."

He sighed. "Patience, Lisbon. Honestly. Let's count it down, shall we? Three, two…"

"Oh, for crying out – Ow!" she shouted, when he pulled the bandage away an instant later, in one smooth motion. "Jeez, Jane. Thanks for the warning."

He lay the used bandage aside, and surveyed Emmett's handiwork. Lisbon sat in front of him in his dress shirt, not buttoned nearly as high as it should be in polite company, her bare knee brushing against his thigh. With some effort, he focused on her injuries.

"Emmett did a good job," he murmured approvingly. He picked up the tube of antiseptic his old friend had sent with them and poured some onto a cotton swab.

"It'll leave a scar," she said unexpectedly, as he cleaned the affected area. He murmured something that could have meant anything, giving her the space to continue.

"I mean – not that I care," she added. "If the worst we get out of all this is a scar…"

He traced the jagged line down her cheekbone with his index finger, studying her.

"You could get it repaired," he said. "Plastic surgery being what it is these days… Insurance might even cover it." The offer to pay for it himself was on the tip of his tongue, but he wisely refrained. She merely shrugged at his suggestion.

"Whatever. It's not like I was stopping traffic before."

He chuckled at that. "Oh, I think you'd be surprised how many pile-ups you've left in your wake, Lisbon." She flushed slightly, but made no comment. "Does it hurt much?"

She shook her head, withdrawing to her own thoughts as he re-bandaged the site. When he was finished, he remained where he was a moment longer – suddenly acutely aware of her proximity, the warmth of her body. He leaned in and kissed her cheek gently.

When he pulled back, she was watching him.

"All better," she said quietly. He recalled their conversation the night she'd gouged her hand in his apartment, and smiled his appreciation at the reference.

It was more than time for him to withdraw, but for some reason he couldn't seem to gather the resolve to stay away. Lisbon was still looking at him – half guarded, half… something else, that was dangerously close to desire. She swallowed, and Jane traced the movement in her lily-white throat. Instead of moving away, he moved just a shade closer.

Lisbon's hands fell to his shirt-front, pulling him still closer. Their eyes held for a long, long instant, before she leaned up and kissed him.

It wasn't like the first kiss – at Ellie's greenhouse, when he'd just fallen apart, and she'd been there to pick up the pieces, as it seemed only Lisbon could. She tasted like toothpaste and the cool clean of an overdue shower, her body pressed to his as she wrapped her arms around him. Her legs were parted, Jane standing between them, and he found himself straining against her, feeling her heat, overwhelmed at a surge of desire like none he'd felt in years.

His tongue slipped past her lips, her body arching up to meet his, her small, firm breasts pressed to his chest. Jane had little doubt that – however ill advised – he would have taken her then and there, on the bathroom counter, had they not been interrupted by a knock on the door.

He pulled back reluctantly, bracing himself for another right hook. Instead, Lisbon merely looked dazed.

"I ordered some food," he explained, nodding toward the door. "I expect that's who's come calling."

"Oh – uh, okay." She nodded slowly. Jane took a step back, allowing her room to hop to the floor.

There was a moment of awkwardness as they remained in the close space, before she offered a stilted laugh.

"I'll just, uh… You know. Grab the food. If you want to take a shower…"

He nodded quickly. "Yeah, of course. You eat. I'll just get washed up, and be out in a bit."

"Good," she said, also nodding. "Good plan." She hurried out of the bathroom like her tail was on fire, while Jane prepared himself for a very cold shower.

When he emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, his blood was once again flowing to more rational locales. He'd even composed a very reasonable speech as to why what had just happened, had happened, and all the reasons that they shouldn't allow it to happen again. It was unlikely that he would need to use it, however, as he was certain Lisbon had already composed exactly the same speech herself.

Lisbon, however, was fast asleep on one of the twin beds. Her shirt hitched up slightly at her left thigh, giving Jane a glimpse of her shapely bottom before he averted his gaze. He helped himself to the food he'd ordered – which, he noted, Lisbon had left largely untouched – and retired to his own bed.

It was barely eight-thirty. He was wired and aching from the long drive, a physical release of some kind obviously necessary if he hoped to get any sleep at all. As he lay in his own bed, his thoughts returned unbidden to the feel of Lisbon's body against his, the way she'd tasted… The way she'd felt in his arms. He sighed heavily, got up, and quietly slipped from the room in the quest for a distraction.

He returned an hour later, dripping wet from a much-needed swim in the hotel pool, and set two shopping bags down in the corner of the room. Lisbon was still sleeping peacefully. He toweled off, changed into his pajamas, lay down, and this time was asleep before his head hit the proverbial pillow.

When he awoke, the room was dark. Jane lay there for a long moment, disoriented, as he tried to remember where in blazes he was.

The hotel. Los Mochis. Tommy kidnapped, Ellie madder than a hatter. And Lisbon, wearing Jane's shirt, pressed to him until he was hard as a sixteen-year-old.

Right.

He listened for the sounds of Lisbon breathing, under the roar of Friday night partygoers outside and the constant hum of the air conditioner. Music was playing a few doors down – something loud, with an appropriately Mexican flavor. Jane smiled at the sound of laughter outside. It was good to know someone was enjoying themselves.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark and his ears became better able to disseminate the sounds around him, however, Jane's good humor vanished. He turned on the bedside lamp with mounting concern, and stared unhappily at the empty bed a few feet from his own.

Lisbon was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

><p>It didn't take long to find her, sitting alone at the end of the hotel bar downstairs, with several drained shots of whiskey in front of her. She still wore his dress shirt, now with jeans and sandals, her hair pulled back. She looked up with a hearty, welcoming smile when Jane approached.<p>

"I know what you're going to say – " she said, before he'd so much as opened his mouth.

Despite himself, he couldn't squelch a smile. "Now who's the psychic?"

She motioned wildly to the bartender, an aging Latina woman with a hard smile and eyes that lightened considerably when she saw Jane.

"Esmerelda, this is Jane. My… Consultant. He used to be my consultant, anyway. Now we're all on the run, so God knows what he is anymore. You want a drink, Jane?"

"Coffee for the lady," he said. "I'll take a beer."

Lisbon looked at him in surprise. "I didn't think you drank beer."

"Only on special occasions. May I?" he asked, indicating the seat beside her.

"Why not?" she said expansively. "Mexico's still a free country, right?"

He sat. She proceeded to stare into her shot glass for so long he thought she might have forgotten he was there. Finally, she turned to face him.

"I couldn't sleep," she admitted.

"Evidently."

She chuckled at that, fell silent for another long moment, and then downed her last shot of whiskey before she spoke again.

"'Til this trip, I didn't think you slept. Except on the CBI couch, anyway. Or ate. You were like Batman." She looked at him with comically narrowed eyes. "Maybe not Batman. You don't have cool enough stuff."

"Says you," he said, sipping at the beer Esmerelda brought.

"But it turns out," Lisbon continued, not even acknowledging his comment, "that you're… normal. Sort of. You snore. You leave those little hairs in the sink when you shave. Sometimes, you even forget to put the toilet seat down."

"Sorry," he said. "I'll try to be more considerate."

She waved off his apology. "I grew up with guys – the rule in our house was leave the seat _up._" She picked up her shot glass, realized it was empty, and set it down again.

"Esme..Esm – Bartender," she finally said, when the name proved too difficult. "I ran out of shots. Hurry."

Instead of whiskey, Esmerelda brought a steaming cup of coffee for Lisbon, who eyed it as though she'd just been handed a hot cup of intestines.

"What's that? I didn't order that. It's the middle of the night. Who the hell orders coffee in the middle of the – " she stopped mid-sentence, and turned to Jane with a look of pure wonder on her face. "Jane."

He did his level best to keep a straight face. "Yes, my dear?"

"We're in Mexico."

"That is the rumor."

"You know what we should do? I mean… Before we drive another fifteen hours and face off with a psychopath for no reason, because we both know my little brother's gonna be lying there dead when we get there, because I couldn't keep my big mouth shut…" She stopped, and stared morosely at the bar.

To her credit, Esmerelda looked no more concerned than if Lisbon had just recited her favorite recipe.

"Why don't we head upstairs, Lisbon – "

"We should go swimming," she said suddenly, rallying once more. "There's a beach – just over there." She pointed to the back of the bar. Jane adjusted her arm, to indicate the stretch of sand and surf to their west. "Right," she nodded. "Right there. I bet the water's nice."

"It might be a little cool," he said reasonably.

She frowned. "You know who'd go swimming with me, if he was here?"

Jane raised an eyebrow at her, curious as to where this might be leading.

"Detective Montrose. We had a date, you know. And I missed it, all because of this…" she stopped, as though at a loss as to how to summarize the events of the past week. "_Thing_. Figures. He's hot, too. Great shoulders."

"If you like that sort of thing," he said, perhaps just a bit sulkily.

"Like what sort of thing? Tall and broad shouldered? Somebody with a steady job who's not always breaking the rules and trying to get himself killed?" Her voice rose just a smidge. "Y'know what? Screw you, Jane." She leveled a glare at him from her barstool. Esmerelda and several patrons looked up interestedly.

"Screw you and your suits and your million dollar smile and your…" she gestured wildly at him. He leaned back to avoid her rabid gesticulations, trying hard not to show his amusement. "Your… ass that won't quit, even though I bet you've never done so much as a push up, your whole life."

She fell silent. Jane waited a second or two before he said agreeably, "I never said I wouldn't go swimming with you."

She shook her head. "Forget it. I'm not in the mood anymore." She stood suddenly.

"Off to the beach?"

"Nope. Bed," she announced unexpectedly. "I've had enough."

He couldn't conceal his surprise. He'd never much cared for tending to drunks – even cute ones – and in his experience, few of them ever had the sense to call it a night of their own accord. But Lisbon tossed several bills on the bar, slurred her thanks to Esmerelda, and lurched to the elevator. Jane could do little but follow in her wake.

She was silent on their way up to the room. After her outburst in the bar, it was clear that she was taking great pains to keep herself in check around him. When the elevator stopped at their floor, he started to get out. She stopped him with a hand on her arm.

"Jane," she said seriously. The fact that her hair was askew, her face flushed, and her eyes glazed with alcohol, made her gravity fairly adorable. He managed to keep a straight face.

"Lisbon," he returned.

"I'm not sleeping with you," she said. She kept her eyes level with his.

He nodded. "I think that's probably for the best."

"Right. Because we work together," she said. "And we're just friends."

He hesitated. Would she even remember this, in the morning? He moved closer, brushing the hair from her face. She blinked, and swayed just slightly.

"No, actually. In fact, I think the work place would be much more interesting if more colleagues had illicit trysts. Perhaps not more functional… But definitely more interesting. And certainly not because we're just friends." He rolled his eyes. "What an absurd thing to say. Would it make more sense if we were enemies who slept together? I won't sleep with you, because you're drunk. And your brother's in danger. And it wouldn't be the right way to do things."

"It would be very sophomoric," she said. She giggled, in a most un-Lisbon-like way; he realized after a moment that she was making fun of him.

"I merely think it would be a wasteful way to end eight years of abstinence," he said. He looked at her pointedly, with a wicked smile. "No, Lisbon. When we sleep together, you're going to remember it. We both are."

She blushed, just faintly. Before she could respond, Jane steered her from the elevator to the hall to their room. He expected a struggle of some kind – some continued flirtatious exchange, perhaps even a battle of wills before they ultimately chose separate beds and Lisbon sobered up.

Instead, Lisbon promptly went in and used the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and returned to her bed clad in only his dress shirt. The alcohol's effects seemed to have faded considerably, leaving her seeming serious and just a tad lost. She climbed under the blankets and reached for the light.

"I'll leave some water and aspirin on the nightstand," he said. He was still standing in the doorway, not certain what had just happened.

"Thanks," she said. She turned off the light.

Jane went into the bathroom and got back into his pajamas. It was two-thirty in the morning, but the party was still going strong outside. He studied himself in the mirror, and thought back to Lisbon's words in the bar. She'd had a date with Montrose… He hadn't known that. When had they arranged it, he wondered?

She was right, of course. Montrose would be a good match for her – someone solid, stable, eager to please. Someone with considerably less baggage than Jane had. He poured a cup of water and fished some aspirin from their travel bag, turned off the bathroom light, and had just settled under the blankets when he heard Lisbon shift in the bed beside his.

"Do you think she killed him today?" she asked quietly.

Jane considered this for a moment. "No," he finally said. "She'll keep him alive until we get there."

"So she can kill him in front of me," she said. There was no emotion in the statement, no tears behind it, but Jane could tell just how deeply they affected her, regardless.

"It's possible," he agreed.

Several seconds passed, during which neither of them spoke but he could sense, somehow, that she was awake. Still considering this.

"I don't know how to live with that," she said. It was a problem she was working out, he knew – nothing she would cry over right now… Simply an incomprehensible scenario that she was trying to grasp.

"You don't, at first," he said simply. "And then… Suddenly, you have. You've survived. And life is never the same again, but you learn to take things moment by moment. Appreciate the small things – the taste of a fresh orange, the smell of the salt air…"

"A stolen kiss in the bathroom?" she asked.

He grinned. "Oh, that's not even in the same category, Lisbon. Now _that's _living. Particularly the way you taste."

She laughed – that whiskey-in-the-morning, sandpaper laugh that he'd come to love. He closed his eyes.

"Patrick," she said, a few minutes later.

"Yes, Teresa?"

There was a long moment of hesitation, while Lisbon struggled with that innate need to keep things bottled up tight, to guard her feelings at all cost. She took a breath.

"Thanks for looking out for me. You're a good friend."

"My pleasure," he said honestly. "Now, try to get some sleep. We have another long day tomorrow."

Another few minutes passed before he heard her breathing even out. Jane lay on his back staring into the dark, silently going over everything that had happened in the past few days. He smiled at the sound of a woman's laughter outside – soft and lilting, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. He could smell the ocean and, beneath it, the scent of Lisbon's shampoo – cinnamon and spice and everything nice - drifting to him from just a few feet away.

They would stop Ellie. They might even save Tommy, in the process. Whether they did or did not, however, Jane would be there. He'd see her through, whatever they faced. Which was far more than that freakishly broad-shouldered Detective Montrose could say.

_TBC_

_**The next chapter will be up on Thursday, when we get a glimpse back into Lisbon's point of view on all of this as they make the trek to Loreto, reunite with some old friends, and the sparks really start to fly as she and Jane prepare for the final face-off with Ellie. Thanks as always for reading, and don't forget to press the magic button with your thoughts! **  
><em>


	21. Chapter 21

_**You guys have been super patient about the lack of the CBI team in the last few chapters, in favor of a whole lotta Jane/Lisbon dancing. Cho and the gang get back in the action starting in this chapter, and in the next several will play a prominent role - I promise. Hope you enjoy!  
><strong>_

_Chapter Twenty-One_

Lisbon woke sometime later to a dark room. Her mouth tasted like she'd swallowed a wool blanket, and her head didn't feel much better. Jane was whispering in her ear.

"Come on, Lisbon. Rise and shine."

She pulled the blanket over her head. "You said we don't have to leave 'til eight," she moaned.

"We don't."

"Then why are you talking to me?"

"Because I have a plan."

He sounded way too chipper, that little impatient bounce to his voice that usually meant he had some wild scheme he couldn't wait to get started on. Since she usually came out on the short end of the stick where his schemes were concerned, she was less than thrilled. She clung to the blankets when he started to pull them away.

"Dammit, Jane. I'm sleeping."

"Please, Lisbon."

It was his blueberry muffin 'please' – the long, wheedling, pathetic 'please' that always got to her. At least, when it wasn't annoying the crap out of her. She sat up in bed, one eye open and one eye shut. Her hair felt like it was going in a thousand directions, her head was pounding, and her shirt – Jane's shirt, actually – had twisted in her sleep so it was hardly decent anymore.

Jane turned on the light.

She blinked in the glare, then blinked again at what she saw once her eyes had adjusted.

Jane stood in the middle of the room in swim trunks, sandals, and a t-shirt. He set a shopping bag next to her on the bed, grinning like a fool.

"I got you something. Come on, Lisbon. Let's go."

He was like a puppy who'd brought her his favorite toy – practically beaming, he was so proud of himself. God. It was a good thing Jane was so damned cute, or somebody would've killed him years ago.

Probably her.

"What is it?" she asked suspiciously. She peered into the bag to find…

"A bathing suit? You woke me up before dawn to tell me you got me a bathing suit?" She pulled the blanket back around her, lay down, and curled into a ball. "I hate you."

"You implied last night that this 'ass that won't quit' – that's a quote, incidentally – just happens, with no effort on my part."

She groaned, blushing from head to toe. "Oh, God. I said that?"

"Among other things. Really, Lisbon, I'm flattered that you noticed. However, nice as it was to hear, it seems only fair to rid you of that notion – since it isn't entirely true. I thought this would be an excellent opportunity."

"So, you're taking me swimming in the middle of the night. I'll pass, thanks."

"Not exactly. And it isn't the middle of the night. Honestly, woman, you're so dramatic."

"Oh, I'm dramatic – that's rich, coming from the man who can't wrap up a case without making a complete spectacle of himself and everyone around him."

"Lisbon." The mattress dipped a little as he sat down beside her. He pried the blanket from her one more time. Once he finally had her attention, he looked at her seriously. "As a personal favor to me, please go into the restroom, put your hair in one of those ponytails you're so fond of, put on the swimsuit, and come with me."

Partly because she knew there was no way in hell he'd let up, and partly because she really was a little curious about whatever he was planning, Lisbon got up. She staggered into the bathroom with her shopping bag, and moaned just a little when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked like death warmed over, and felt about six times worse.

Damn that man.

She wasn't surprised when the bathing suit – a pretty black one-piece that somehow managed to be classy while still showing a little more skin than she was comfortable with – fit perfectly. Jane was the kind of guy who got those sorts of things right.

When she came out of the bathroom, her hair was wrestled into a ponytail, she'd put on Emmett's stripper friend's cutoffs on top of the bathing suit, and she was ready for action. More or less. Jane handed her a cup of coffee and whistled his appreciation.

"I knew the moment I saw it that this was the one for you. Really, Lisbon, you should wear less more often."

There wasn't another man on the planet that could make her blush the way he could. As usual, she felt her face go warm. She glared at him.

"Are we doing this or what?"

"Oh, we definitely are. Come on, Lisbon – we don't want to miss the sunrise."

* * *

><p>The sun was just coming up over the water when they got to the beach, lighting the sky to a warm caramel. It was cool enough that Lisbon wished she'd worn a jacket. Only a few people – all surfers – were on the beach at this hour, and all the misgivings Lisbon had had before got a whole lot bigger. Jane led her to a little surf shack.<p>

"I'd like to rent a surfboard, please," he said politely, to a gorgeous blonde surf bunny in a barely-there bikini.

The bunny sized him up in no time flat, her big doe eyes flickering with interest.

"You've surfed before?" she purred at him.

Jane shrugged in that affable, aw shucks kind of way he had. "Eh – here and there. We won't try anything too daring."

"I give private lessons, if you want," she said. Like Lisbon wasn't even there. Yeah, this was exactly what she needed right now.

Instead of playing along, though, Jane surprised Lisbon by taking her hand. He looked at her with a sparkle in his eye.

"What do you say, darling? Would you like a private lesson?"

Doe-eyes deflated faster than a blow-up doll. Lisbon couldn't help herself – she squeezed Jane's hand, laying it on thick herself.

"I don't think so, _dear. _I'm looking forward to you showing me what you've got."

Their eyes held for a couple of seconds, while he recovered from his surprise. Score one for Lisbon, she thought silently, pleased with herself. She'd have to remember to play along more often.

"Well, you heard the lady. Just the board, then."

The episode at the surf shack put Lisbon back in a fairly good frame of mind, though that was killed pretty much the moment she caught sight of the waves. She was a good swimmer – she'd been a lifeguard all through high school and college, back East. But swimming at the Y was a whole other ballgame than this. Jane had no such worries, of course; he stood on the beach with the waves rolling in, watching the sunrise like he didn't have a care in the world.

"What about sharks?" she asked, when Jane started edging closer to the water.

"I make a habit of avoiding them," he said.

"Funny. Seriously, Jane – I've never done this before. What do you expect me to do, just go out there and suddenly… Surf? Stand up on the board and ride the waves? That's your plan."

He gave her his best Don't-Be-An-Idiot look. "No, that's not my plan. If that were my plan, I would have gotten two surfboards. Just follow my lead. Come on." He trotted back to where she stood, took her hand again, and pulled her gently toward the water.

"I promise, Lisbon – no sharks. No near-misses. Just trust me."

Funny, she'd been hearing that from him a lot lately. The funnier thing was, for the first time since they'd started working together, she realized that she _did _trust him. Just like she'd said yesterday – more than just about anyone, she trusted him. She really was an idiot.

She followed him reluctantly.

The shock of the cold water on her bare feet took her breath away, and she just about turned tail and ran. By now, though, she was intrigued enough with whatever Jane had in mind to keep going. The waves weren't actually bad – she'd seen a lot worse on the California coast, though she'd never spent much time in the ocean there.

Once they were waist deep, Jane set the surfboard on the water and patted a spot dead center.

"All right – hop on."

She looked at him like he'd gone nuts. "What do you mean?"

"I thought it was fairly self explanatory, Lisbon. Climb aboard."

"I told you – I don't know how to surf."

"I didn't say, 'start surfing,' did I? Good heavens, Lisbon, can't you do anything without making a federal case out of it? Just climb onto the board, and sit there. I'll do the rest."

Against her better judgment, she did as he asked. All around them, surfers rode the waves like it was the easiest thing in the world. Lisbon straddled the surfboard beneath her, clutching it tightly as she slowly got used to the rhythm of the water. Jane dove in and vanished beneath the surface for a few seconds, then reappeared and shook out his blonde curls before he swam back to her with strong, steady strokes. Lisbon felt a rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the rising sun, watching the light hit his shoulders and back as he cut through the water toward her.

He grabbed hold of the surfboard's tow line and strapped it around his ankle easily, never once touching bottom.

"What are you doing?"

"Just hang on," he said. He dove back into the water. A second later, the board began to move. He was towing her out to sea.

They'd only been moving for a minute or two before Lisbon decided she'd had enough. She shook her head, plugged her nose, and slid into the cold, cold ocean. The salt water stung her cheek – which, she reminded herself, Emmett had said she shouldn't get wet – and the swimming made her arm ache, from where she'd been shot just a few weeks before. Still, it felt good to be moving. Within a few strokes, she caught up to Jane.

He did a double take when he realized she was swimming alongside him.

"What are you doing out here? I thought I told you to stay put."

"I can swim, Jane – I don't need you to pull me along like dead weight or something." They tread water for a few seconds, bobbing gently on the waves. "Now, where the hell are you planning on taking me?"

They'd passed the breakers by now – out here this far, the water was almost calm. Jane lifted himself up above the surface a little, looking around for who knew what.

"This should do, actually. Go ahead and hop back on."

"Whatever you're planning – "

"You know, your unrelenting suspicion is enough to give one a complex. Just get on the damned surfboard, woman."

Hearing Jane swear always made her grin. She climbed back on the surfboard. Another couple of seconds passed before Jane joined her, straddling the surfboard behind her. Lisbon felt his body against hers – his chest broad, strong, more… male, somehow, than she'd ever expected Jane could be. She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold water when he settled his hands on her hips.

"Jane – "

"Ssh," he hushed her. "Look out there." He pointed over her shoulder, his arm brushing against hers. It left a trail of water that ran down her shoulder and pooled in her collarbone, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

She followed his hand to a spot far off in the distance, and couldn't help but smile at what she saw.

"Dolphins?"

"Dolphins."

They watched in silence for a few seconds, all the while Lisbon becoming more and more aware of how close he was, the effect he was having on her body. If she turned her head just a little to her right, it would be easy to kiss him, right here – in the middle of the ocean, all alone, nobody but the dolphins and a few anonymous surfers to see them.

She kept her eyes straight ahead.

"They're beautiful," she said.

"They are."

She glanced behind her, realizing as she did so that Jane wasn't looking out at the water at all – instead, his eyes were focused on her. She blushed, and turned back to the horizon.

"It's so peaceful out here."

He nodded. "That's why I brought you out here."

His voice was low, soft in her ear – intimate in a way she didn't usually allow people to be, with her. Somewhere along the line, though, it had become acceptable behavior from Jane. She waited for him to continue. The water rocked them gently back and forth, the movement distinctly sensual when coupled with Jane's hands on her hips, his body cradling hers. When he spoke again, it was with the weight she'd only heard a few times from him, all the clowning gone for the moment.

"It's an important day, Lisbon. Right now, your brother is alive. He's the same man you know – the annoying little brother you taught to dance for his junior high prom. The man with the drug problem and the electrician's business and the boundless potential."

She felt her eyes mist, her gaze fixed on the dolphins – now barely visible, far off on the horizon. Jane's fingers tapped out a light rhythm on her sides. She could practically feel him struggling with this, trying to say whatever was on his mind.

"Whatever happens tomorrow – all of that will change. Whether your brother lives or dies, nothing will ever be quite the same. Your memories of who he is will shift. But now…" She felt him shrug behind her, all of the eloquence suddenly gone. "I just wanted to bring you out here, and mark this moment."

She nodded, though she didn't trust herself to speak. She leaned back against Jane's chest and focused on that moment. She and Jane, alone together on the ocean. Her brother still alive. Her family intact. She wished, suddenly, that they could stay that way forever.

* * *

><p>They headed back a few minutes later, since the one thing Lisbon had learned over the years was that all good things had to come to an end. She insisted on swimming alongside him the whole way this time, ignoring the ache in her arm and the sting in her cheek and the weariness in her bones. She was alive – she'd damned well keep moving for as long as she could.<p>

When they got back to shore, she felt better – cleaner, somehow. More clear. She nodded toward the surfboard that Jane carried under her arm.

"So, hot shot, are you gonna show me those moves or what? You said that ass didn't just happen – I'm assuming you didn't get it from towing girls around the Sacramento Bay on your off hours."

He laughed – a rarity, for him. Sure, he smiled plenty, but she always felt a little spark of pride when she actually got him to laugh.

"I suppose I wouldn't mind a spin - it's been a while. You're sure you don't mind?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

She plopped herself in the sand, watching with a little more interest than she probably should have as a bare-chested Jane with surfboard under his arm plunged back into the waves. Within five minutes he was on his feet, riding swell after swell. He was showing off for her, she could tell – a thought that made her cheeks burn. At the same time, though, there was something peaceful about him that she'd never seen before. She got the feeling that he was allowing her a glimpse of the real Patrick Jane, something few people ever saw anymore.

She was startled from her thoughts by the sound of someone clearing their throat beside her.

"Not bad. If the crime fighting doesn't work out, maybe he can hit the pro circuit."

Lisbon looked up in surprise, to find none other than Kimball Cho smiling down at her. He wore shorts and an "I Heart Mexico" t-shirt, topped with a straw fedora. She was pretty sure she'd never seen anybody look more out of their element.

"Cho! What are you doing here?"

He glanced around, looking about as nervous as Cho ever looked – which was to say, no one but those who knew him well would have noticed a thing. Lisbon noticed, though.

"I'm flying under the radar. Or that's the plan, anyway. Mind if I have a seat?"

"No. God, yeah, sit down."

He sat. They watched Jane for a couple of seconds of silence before Lisbon spoke first.

"He called you."

"He's been keeping us in the loop, yeah," Cho confirmed. "You're okay?"

She looked at him, recognizing the obvious concern in his dark eyes. She nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. You shouldn't have come here, though."

"Maybe not," he agreed. "I figured I was due for a vacation, though. Here's as good a place as any."

He kept his eyes straight ahead, barely even looking at her. All the same, she knew Cho well enough to realize that he'd taken in everything from the moment he first caught sight of them – the bandage on her cheek, the new bathing suit, and certainly the way she'd just been watching Jane. Yeah… He hadn't missed a thing.

"What about Rigsby and Van Pelt?"

He paused, just long enough for her to know this would be bad.

"What did you do?" she demanded.

"They're already in Loreto."

"They're _what_?" Her voice rose just a touch before she got herself back under control.

In the distance, Jane had chased his last wave of the morning. She watched as he chatted cheerfully with another of the surfers before he took his board and trotted back to she and Cho.

"Lisbon, look who's here!" he said, feigning surprise. "It's true what they say, you know – it really is a small world."

He flopped down on Lisbon's other side, shaking the water out of his wet hair all over her. She gave him a wilting look, but didn't bother yelling. Like it ever did any good.

"Can it, Jane," she said irritably. "You sent Rigsby and Van Pelt to Loreto?"

"I did no such thing," he assured her. "I merely told them my plan. They were free to participate or abstain, the same as Cho."

"They're undercover," Cho said. "Rigsby hauled out his mountain man beard."

Lisbon winced. "Oh, God. I wish he'd retire that thing already."

"It's not his best look," Cho agreed.

She turned to Jane. Her stomach had taken a turn since the news about Rigsby and Van Pelt. Not only would they be putting themselves in danger, but if Ellie found out... "You really think the whole team can sneak into Loreto without Ellie finding out?"

He shrugged. "Meh. There are few certainties in life, Lisbon. The only one I can think of at the moment is the outcome if we don't go into that meeting tomorrow with some type of plan. Without one, I can guarantee you that we won't bring Tommy home alive."

She nodded grimly. It wasn't news to her, but it still wasn't what she'd wanted to hear. "Yeah. I was afraid you'd say that."

* * *

><p>Though the roads were worse and the heat was just as bad, the drive to Loreto wasn't nearly as horrible as the one to Los Mochis the day before. For one thing, Jane had worked his magic and traded in Emmett's crappy pickup for a beat-up Jetta that at least had air conditioning.<p>

In case they were being watched – which Lisbon figured by now was inevitable – Cho drove separately, the plan being that he would leave a few hours after them. They would all rendezvous in Loreto late that night, to coordinate things for Jane's plan the next day. So far, however, Jane had been characteristically vague on just what, exactly, that plan might be.

Lisbon insisted on driving most of the day, too wired to sit passively by for another minute. Jane only put up a token fight before he surrendered. For the bulk of the day, he dozed in the passenger's seat and fiddled with the radio.

All day, Lisbon waited for Ellie to call back and give her some reassurance that she hadn't signed Tommy's death warrant by losing her temper the way she had. The call didn't come until almost six o'clock that night. By that time, Lisbon's stomach was raw and her eyes stung from the long hours behind the wheel. She pulled over to the side of the road as soon as the phone rang, snatching it from Jane's hand before he could answer.

"This is Lisbon," she said, her voice tight.

There was a long pause before Ellie finally spoke. "You need to work on your temper, Agent Lisbon."

Lisbon nodded quickly, trying to sound as contrite as possible. "I know – you're right. I'm sorry."

"I don't appreciate you bringing up my former mentor, discussing things of which you have absolutely no understanding."

"It won't happen again. Is my brother there? Please – I'd like to talk to him."

"Whatever happens to him, this is on you now – you understand that?" Ellie's voice rose, demanding that she pay attention. "I have a plan, Agent Lisbon – a certain order to things. I don't appreciate it when people disrupt that order."

"I understand."

"Tommy didn't have a good day yesterday. That isn't my fault. That's your doing."

Lisbon clenched her fists, desperate to keep a lid on her emotions. "Please. I just want to talk to him, make sure he's okay."

A second later, she heard shuffling as Ellie shifted the phone, then the woman's voice in the background.

"Your sister wants to say hello."

"Tommy?"

She was met with silence on the other end, then the sound of ragged breathing. When Tommy finally spoke, it sounded like he was just coming out of a long, deep sleep.

"Terri?"

"This'll all be over soon, Tommy. You just hang on."

"Don't come – Terri, just forget it." He was breathing hard, like he'd just finished a marathon. All the same, there was a strength behind his voice that she hadn't heard before. "There's nothing left to save, Ter. Go home. Forget me – don't let her kill you, too. Just leave me here."

A second later, Ellie had the phone again. Lisbon dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands, still trying to keep it together.

"He's sweet, Teresa. You did a good job raising those boys. So well mannered, so handsome. Despite what he says, though, I know you won't let your little brother down. I'll see you at ten o'clock tomorrow."

She hung up.

Lisbon sat there for a long time, a rushing in her ears. Jane touched her arm hesitantly.

"Why don't you let me drive for a while – it would give you time to rest."

She shook her head, her eyes burning with unshed tears. She was done crying – done playing the victim in Ellie's demented game. She put the car back in gear and pulled back onto the road.

"No, Jane. I've got it."

She kept driving.

* * *

><p>Loreto was nothing like Los Mochis, with its surf culture and tourist-friendly vibe. In fact, if they had any choice at all, Lisbon would have just kept on driving. There was something dark and creepy about the whole town, from the cluster of clearly-armed drug dealers on the street corner to the band of prostitutes out in front of a local bar – not one of whom could have been more than thirteen years old.<p>

Jane obviously felt the same way, gazing up and down the street with a heavy sigh. "Whoo… This is cheery. Though I suppose if you're going to have a standoff…"

She couldn't even summon a smile. She was stiff and sore and dusty and tired. Never in her life had she wanted something to be over quite so much as she wanted to get past the next twenty-four hours.

There were two inns in town, not counting the former hotel that Ellie had named as their meeting place. After checking out both of them, Lisbon decided one wasn't really any better than the other – they were both basically dives. Jane flipped a coin and hemmed and hawed and then, instead of checking in at either place, took them straight to the bar.

"Why can't we check in first?" she demanded once he stopped the car.

"Because I'm hungry. And surely the locals at the Devil's Playground over there won't mind waiting another hour before we check in, before they do whatever it is they do to attractive tourists around here." He looked at her with an eyebrow raised, not looking nearly as light as he usually did. "Please?"

She agreed.

The second they sat down at a dingy table in the back, however, Jane disappeared. The bar was full, more than a few locals eying Lisbon as she sat there. She slid her hand around her pistol grip to reassure herself, cursing under her breath. Maybe three minutes passed before Jane reappeared and practically pulled her chair out from under her.

"That's that, then. Let's go."

"What? I thought you were hungry."

"I am – we'll get something at the inn. Chop chop, Lisbon. No time to waste – I believe several of those men at the bar are planning on having you for dessert."

And so, five minutes after they'd gone in, Lisbon followed Jane back out. He got behind the wheel before she could protest, and drove straight past the only two hotels in town. Lisbon didn't even bother to ask what he was doing this time – she was beginning to feel like a broken record. Another five minutes passed, Jane checking a scrap of paper in his hand periodically, before they reached a quiet, dusty neighborhood on a deserted dirt road.

He slowed down in front of a church, then turned right onto a badly rutted road just after it.

"You know, the man of mystery thing gets old after a while," she noted.

He looked at her cheerfully. "Oh, I don't think so. I'm never dull, Lisbon – face it, you like that about me. It's more than Montrose can say, at any rate."

He pulled in in front of a long rectangular building of white stucco, where at least a dozen kids were kicking a soccer ball out front. Japanese lanterns hung on a long string out front, lighting the scene. Several chickens, a pig, and a goat wandered free around the yard. Jane hopped out of the car.

"Wait here just a moment – I'll be right back."

She watched him disappear inside the building, too tired to be annoyed. Maybe she was beyond being annoyed anymore, she mused – losing Tommy and almost dying and no sleep had cured her. One of the kids kicked the soccer ball and it bounced off their front tire. He rushed over, obviously apologizing, though she didn't understand a word of his rapid-fire Spanish.

She shook her head. "_No hablo espanol_."

He grinned. Two of his front teeth were missing, his left knee still bloody from a recent fall. He couldn't have been more than seven or eight. A vision of Tommy at that age crossed her mind, making her heart stutter and her stomach twist.

"_Si_," he said, still smiling. "_Lo siento_."

He picked up his ball and ran off to rejoin the others, all gathered around waiting for him. Lisbon got out of the car and stood there, watching them. It was mostly boys – just one little girl of ten or eleven, her hair in a ponytail. She wore shorts a size too big for her, fastened around her middle with a length of rope. Lisbon smiled when the girl stole the ball from two of the larger boys, dribbling it neatly between her feet as she raced for the goal.

A mangy-looking dog slunk along the perimeter, watching all of this. The neighborhood was dark, except for the lanterns out in front of this single place. Jane reappeared a few minutes later looking pleased with himself, a key in one hand and what looked like a set of sheets in the other.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"There's room at the inn," he announced triumphantly.

He led her out to the far end of the stucco building, where a wooden door two feet off the ground appeared to be the only entrance.

"How are the others gonna find us way out here?" she asked.

"It won't be a problem."

He unlocked the door, waiting for her to go in before he followed. With anyone else she would balk at the gesture, but with Jane it was more likely he was hoping she'd protect him from anybody waiting to jump them in the dark.

A bare bulb swung from the ceiling in the middle of the room, casting eerie shadows on the stucco walls. One double bed dominated the space, a giant crucifix on the wall behind it. There was only one window – a small one, set up high like you might find in a prison cell. Still, the construction made the room surprisingly cool, and it was neat as a pin.

"Here it is, Lisbon. Home sweet home."

She barely looked around before she set her stuff on the bed. "Not bad."

He looked at her in surprise. "You're not going to argue with me? Ask me what the hell I'm thinking? Tell me I'm going to get us all killed before the night's out?"

"I'm too tired to argue. It's clean – no bedbugs, no cockroaches. No drug cartel waiting to rape and kill one or both of us in our sleep. Looks good to me."

He shook his head. "You do surprise me at times, Lisbon. Now, go ahead and freshen up – Rosita has some _pollo frito_ with our names on it."

"What about the others? When are we meeting with them?"

She plowed through their suitcase until she found one of Jane's t-shirts and a skirt he'd picked up for her on his little shopping excursion the day before. She motioned for him to turn around, which he did only after rolling his eyes at her.

"Patience. It's all falling into place, Lisbon."

"I hate it when you do that, you know."

"Do what?" he asked innocently. "Make things run smoothly?"

"Keep me out of the loop under the pretense that you're protecting me from… Whatever. Myself. Somebody else. The long arm of the law. Just tell me already."

The skirt was one of those wraparound deals she'd never been able to figure out – leave it to Jane to pick the only piece of clothing out there that you had to have an engineering degree to wear. She wrestled with it for a good two minutes before she was ready to throw it across the room.

"Would you like some help?"

She looked up, suddenly realizing that he'd been watching her this entire time. "You couldn't have just picked something with buttons and a zipper like a normal person?"

"This was prettier."

Jane was in the process of changing, as well – his shirt off, wearing only shorts and sandals. The intimacy of the scene caught her off guard… It was almost scary how natural it felt for them to be sharing a room, picking out what they'd wear for a night out. Except that in this scenario, of course, her brother was being held somewhere just a few miles away by a psychopath bent on destroying all their lives. Surreal didn't really begin to cover it.

She had the skirt – sarong, whatever – haphazardly wrapped around her so she at least wasn't showing anything she didn't want seen. Jane pulled on a t-shirt, walked over to her, and deftly unknotted the ends of the sarong without ever looking down – his eyes on hers the entire time, their bodies only inches apart. She wore his t-shirt but hadn't bothered with a bra yet, and she realized suddenly that, this close, Jane wouldn't have to be a psychic to be able to tell that.

If he did, he made no comment.

"They'll meet us here, but not until later," he said. "Two o'clock."

She stared at him, a little mesmerized by his blue eyes and the heat from his body – so warm that she felt like it would burn her, if they actually touched.

"Huh?"

His lips quirked up in a knowing little half smile. "The others. Van Pelt, Rigsby, Cho. The woman who runs this place takes in people running from the drug cartel… There's a network of tunnels running beneath us."

"And you don't think Ellie knows about it?"

"The drug cartel doesn't… I don't know why she would. As far as the locals are concerned, it's just an orphanage."

"And you found out about it because…?"

He grinned. "I may have forgotten to mention, we're undercover."

And here it came. She raised an eyebrow at him. "Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not – but I suppose I should tell you, in case it comes up over dinner. We're missionaries."

She tried to take a step back, but Jane held fast to her skirt ties. "Missionaries? Jane! We can't pose as missionaries. It's… it's…"

"Diabolical?" He tipped his head back and forth, like he was weighing an argument she hadn't even made yet. "Perhaps – but only slightly. Now hold still a moment – I've almost got this."

He pulled her just a little bit closer, until their bodies were touching. His fingers brushed against her hips as he finished tying the sarong, his eyes still locked on hers. She thought of the night before in the hotel room – the feel of him hard against her, his mouth on hers, his hands burning a trail over her body. Jane's eyes went dark, a flicker of doubt passing through; she could almost feel him struggling with himself, before a mischievous light suddenly extinguished any trace of desire.

"Besides," he said with a grin, "if anyone can pull it off, I'm certain St Teresa can."

He stepped back before she could hit him, raising his arm like he was fending off a blow.

"You're going to need to get that temper under control if you want to convince Rosita and the others we're for real," he goaded, heading for the door. He paused, waiting to be sure he had her full attention before he continued with a devilish smile. "And you'll probably want to put something on under that t-shirt."

She threw a shoe at him, but it missed Jane by a good two inches as he slid neatly out the door, grinning all the while.

After the door had shut behind him, she stood there alone for a long moment. Her smile vanished abruptly. Outside, she could still hear the kids playing soccer, their laughter and shouts like the soundtrack to her own childhood with her brothers. It was barely nine o'clock… Another thirteen hours of this torture, before she'd know one way or the other whether she was bringing Tommy home alive.

Despite everything, she was relieved that Cho and Rigsby and Van Pelt – her team – would be here to back her up. And she was more grateful than she wanted to admit even to herself, for the care and help and distraction that Jane had provided these last few days. They had a plan. They'd gotten here on time.

There was nothing left to do.

She touched the cross around her neck, her eyes settling on the crucifix behind the bed. Forcing back tears one last time, she crossed herself, knelt on the rough concrete floor, and prayed that her brother – that all of them – would return home safely.

_TBC_

_**Hope you guys aren't getting bored with all the preparations before the big meet-up with Ellie. Stay tuned for a team reunion in the next chapter, a whole lotta scheming, new insight into Ellie Jennings, a little bit of conspiracy, and... Oh yeah. I do believe we're edging dangerously toward M in our next chap. :-) See ya Sunday!**_


	22. Chapter 22

_**And... Chapter 22. Um - remember how I said this chapter MIGHT edge a little toward M? I'm afraid we definitely cross the threshold with this one. The case is building, the team is back, and we have twelve hours 'til that fateful meeting with Ellie Jennings... **  
><em>

_Chapter Twenty-Two_

After the near-miss in their room involving the sarong Jane had purchased for Lisbon in Los Mochis – and his body's undeniable reaction to that sarong, – he took a brief respite to get himself back in hand. Those near-misses were becoming increasingly frequent – something that would have been easily explained away by their proximity and the strain Lisbon was under, had it not been for the fact that the escalating tension between them had started before Ellie ever entered the picture.

He thought of the kiss he'd brushed across her hand back in his apartment, only a week ago now. No… Lisbon might have fooled herself into believing it was just stress that was creating this attraction between them, but Jane had no such misconceptions. Whatever the source, however, he was grateful at least for the fact that it seemed to provide some modicum of distraction for Lisbon right now. It was clear that she needed it.

When she joined him for dinner, the deep blue sarong he'd bought was wrapped neatly around her slim waist, her hair swept up and the t-shirt she'd been wearing replaced with a tank top and one of his dress shirts. Despite the circles beneath her eyes and the clear worry on her face, he was taken aback for a moment by how lovely she looked. Jeans and blazers were all well and good, but Jane decided then and there that anytime he could wrangle Lisbon into something a bit more feminine, he planned to do so.

"I knew that would suit you," he said, as she sat down opposite him at the table. They were on a little deck overlooking a courtyard out back.

"Yeah, right." She fidgeted with the waist. "I think you tied it wrong – it feels like it's gonna fall off any second now."

"Stop playing with it or it just might. I tied it just fine – though if it _did _fall off, it would certainly make us more memorable visitors than the usual missionaries that pass through."

She glared at him at mention of their cover. "Since Sister Rosita only gave us one room, I'm assuming that means we're _married _missionaries?"

He grinned, laying his hand atop hers on the table. "The Lord works in mysterious ways, Lisbon."

She pulled her hand away the moment Sister Rosita appeared, carrying two plates of fried chicken with tortillas, refried beans, and a couple of Coca Colas for good measure. Jane hopped up to help, then insisted the woman join them while they ate. Meanwhile, the children from the orphanage continued to play their games in the courtyard.

Jane kept up a steady conversation with Rosita, though the fact that it was primarily in Spanish meant Lisbon was automatically excluded from much of it. She pushed the food around on her plate, her gaze shifting listlessly to the children playing in the yard. Jane noted that two in particular held her attention: a gangly young girl of eleven or twelve, and a boy of seven or eight who was missing his front teeth. It was easy to tell that the two were siblings, not only from their appearance but from the way they interacted. Lisbon was clearly captivated with the duo.

The night wore on, Lisbon growing more and more restless in her seat at the table. Chameleons skittered along the orphanage walls, mosquitoes and moths buzzing around the Japanese lanterns that illuminated the scene. This deep inland, night brought little relief from the heat – Jane felt dusty and damp, and longed for a shower.

Finally, at shortly before ten o'clock, Lisbon stood and politely excused herself from the table. Though it was still warm, the children from the orphanage continued playing, seemingly oblivious to the heat or the late hour.

"She is very sad – your friend," Rosita noted.

Jane nodded absently. "She has a lot on her mind. Would you excuse me, Sister? This was delicious, but…"

"Of course. Go."

He breathed in the dusty air as he stepped into the yard. The children were playing soccer – apparently a favorite here at the orphanage. The resident chickens had long since settled in to roost for the night, though a few neighborhood dogs continued skulking in the shadows.

Jane put himself squarely in the middle of the action, neatly stealing the ball from the boy Lisbon had been watching.

"All of you against me – how's that?" he asked in Spanish, addressing the cluster of children eying him curiously. "Who'll take me up on it?"

Lisbon watched from a small stone bench beside a dried-out, overgrown water fountain. When the children accepted and the game began, he was pleased to note that her interest was piqued.

He made two goals with relative ease, not allowing a single ball to pass through the goalpost on his end. Though he was tired, Jane had always enjoyed a good game of soccer. He called over to Lisbon.

"Come on, Lisbon – join us. They could obviously use a hand."

It only took a bit of pestering before she agreed. Once she had, she joined the kids and – despite the language barrier – was soon coaching and strategizing, sketching out plans in the dusty earth at their feet. Even from the sidelines, he could tell that she was putting great effort into playing to each of the children's strengths, without excluding any of them. She truly was a natural leader – even out here, in the middle of nowhere.

"We're not going to battle, Lisbon – are you playing or not?"

They were indeed playing. Before he knew it, the children launched a full-scale offensive while Lisbon looked on, clapping when they scored their first goal.

"Why aren't you on the field?" he called to her, still standing on the sidelines. "Afraid I'll show you up?"

She got that competitive gleam in her eye that never failed to amuse him. And, truth be told, occasionally arouse him. A minute or two passed while she huddled with the children, sketching out still more plans in the dirt. Finally, they broke the huddle and Lisbon took the ball.

Despite her skirt, she ran with ease across the yard, dribbling the ball between her feet with practiced assurance. Halfway to Jane, she passed it to the girl with whom she'd formed an allegiance early on – Isadora, Jane had learned her name was. Isadora passed the ball back just as Lisbon faced off with Jane at the goalpost.

"What do you think, Lisbon?" he goaded. "Can you make the shot?"

She studied the space with keen eyes, calculating her next move. It was no surprise to him that she was good at this – she wouldn't have agreed to play if she hadn't thought she could beat him. She moved the ball restlessly from her left foot to her right, taking her time. Just as he was about to comment, she faked a kick to her left, then darted to the right with the intent of gliding smoothly past him to score the goal.

Jane caught her with an arm around her middle and lifted her off the ground at the same time that he stole the soccer ball, kicking it back to the children waiting in the wings. She shrieked and caught him off balance, and before he knew it they landed on the ground in an undignified heap, Lisbon beneath him.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded.

"Sssh," he whispered, putting a finger to her lips. The kids were laughing in the background, thoroughly amused with the crazy Americans' exploits. "We're good God-fearing people, remember?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, but refrained from arguing the point any further. He could feel her body beneath him – slight but strong, her heart hammering so hard that he imagined he might actually see the movement, in the right light.

"You know you're not supposed to tackle people in soccer, right?" she asked, an eyebrow raised but the ire gone. "I would've made that goal."

"Meh. Rules." He brushed a smudge of dirt from her face.

"You're impossible."

"And you'd have it no other way," he said knowingly.

Their eyes held for a moment, before the kids came over to make certain they were all right. Jane stood and helped Lisbon to her feet.

Isadora approached Lisbon with a shy smile, motioning for the ball. Her little brother was beside her. She said something in rapid Spanish, and Lisbon looked at her blankly.

"I'm sorry, I don't…" Lisbon apologized.

"Uh, she wants to know where you learned to play like that," Jane translated.

Lisbon nodded. "Ah. Could you tell her I grew up with boys, too?" she asked. "Three brothers. We played a lot."

Jane gave Isadora Lisbon's response, and the girl brightened immediately; she addressed her next questions to Jane directly. Lisbon looked at him curiously as the two continued with a conversation for a few moments, and Isadora began to giggle. Soon, her brother was laughing as well, while Jane grinned and Lisbon looked on with mounting suspicion.

"What was that all about?" Lisbon asked, as Isadora and her brother headed inside with the other children for the night.

"She wanted to know how we met."

"What'd you tell her that was so funny?"

"I told her we met at a soccer game."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "And how is that funny?"

"She asked how we became missionaries from a soccer game. I simply explained that I began praying the moment I saw you on the soccer field… And haven't stopped since."

Predictably enough, this was met with a bemused pout and a punch to Jane's right arm.

"You really are impossible," she said.

Her heart wasn't in the comment, however. Lisbon's mood had grown darker the moment the children had gone – now, it was clear that her mind was elsewhere. He nodded toward their room.

"Are you ready to turn in? We still have a few hours before our meeting – it might be good to catch a little sleep."

She hesitated. "Sister Rosita said there's a shower somewhere, right? I think I'm gonna get cleaned up first. I'll meet you in there in a while."

He'd been thinking the same thing himself, but he decided it would be better to give Lisbon some time on her own. He directed her to the sun shower Rosita had told him about in the back, and then stood there for a moment, watching until Lisbon had vanished into the darkness. For some reason, the image made him shiver, despite the heat of the night. For days now, he had been trying to avoid thinking too much about what might be awaiting them when they finally met with Ellie.

With less than twelve hours to go, it was getting more and more difficult to simply push the thought out of his head. He retired to their room alone to go over the plan he had yet to share with Lisbon, one more time.

* * *

><p>After Lisbon returned to the room, Jane went out on his own quest to clean up a bit. By the time he came back, Lisbon was sound asleep. At first, he thought she might be faking, but her soft snoring convinced him otherwise; no woman ever faked snoring. He lay down beside her on the bed, both of them fully clothed and atop the thin blankets, in anticipation of their two a.m. meeting. It was just after eleven o'clock.<p>

Three hours passed surprisingly quickly. It seemed Jane had just closed his eyes when the alarm on Lisbon's phone buzzed, rousing them both instantly. Lisbon went to turn on the light at the center of the room, but he caught her hand before she could do so.

"Ellie knows we're in town – she's probably figured out where we're staying. We don't want her to know we're up now."

She nodded, the movement just barely illuminated by moonlight shining into the single window in their room.

"If she's watching, how are we supposed to get out of here to meet everyone without her knowing about it?"

Jane shuffled his foot along the concrete floor until he found what he was looking for – a barely detectable seam in the floor, hidden beneath a hand-woven throw rug.

"We're not."

He got to his hands and knees and ran his hand along the seam until he found a crevice large enough to fit his fingers into, and pulled open a very well-concealed trapdoor. Lisbon peered into the darkness below.

"They're down there?" It was too dark to see her expression, but her skepticism was plain as day.

"They should be," Jane said. "Or they will be soon, at any rate. Come on – you first."

"No way. This is all you."

"What's the matter – scared of the dark?"

"No. I'm scared of the creepy crawly things that live in the dark."

He smiled. Smart woman. After a bit more back and forth, Lisbon finally relented and agreed to go first – whatever the recent shift in their relationship might mean, he wasn't prepared to abandon his hallmark cowardice just yet. Besides, however much she might protest, he knew that Lisbon secretly took great delight in regularly being the one to save the day. Once she was two or three rungs down the ladder leading below, he shined a flashlight down into the darkness.

"You couldn't have gotten that out five minutes ago?"

"Just thought of it," he said. He flashed the beam across her face to get the full effect of her death glare – another of his favorite Lisbon expressions.

She muttered something about him being useless, and then fell silent as they descended into the recesses of the orphanage's underground lair.

* * *

><p>Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt were waiting for them in a narrow chamber not far from the point at which they'd entered the tunnel. A card table and several folding chairs were set up, a battery powered lantern the only source of light. They made a motley crew, still in their disguises – Rigsby with a ten gallon cowboy hat and a scraggly beard, Cho still in his tourist garb, and Van Pelt in full nun regalia.<p>

"Hail, hail, the gang's all here," Jane quipped.

Van Pelt rushed to Lisbon immediately and gave her a big hug, Rigsby and even Cho not far behind.

"You guys are all idiots," Lisbon said, the moment she was freed from everyone's embraces. "You shouldn't be here."

"We weren't going to let you do this alone," Van Pelt said. "Red John's done enough to this team. We're not losing anybody else."

Lisbon nodded, clearly touched.

"Well… I appreciate your support – I really do," she said. "But the reality is, I don't know if we really have much of a choice." She glanced at Jane, who had been silent up 'til now. "Jane's pointed out more than once that Ellie's holding all the cards in this."

"Ah – but that was only when we were a thousand miles away," he said. "Once she shows herself, and I can actually engage her in some type of conversation, then that should level the playing field considerably."

"So – what, you're planning on talking her to death?" Rigsby asked.

"If anyone can do it, my money's on Jane," Cho said.

Jane grinned. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Cho."

"I'd just like to say up front that the next time we do this," Van Pelt said, "can we make it somewhere not so hot? Right now, the Antarctic sounds like heaven."

"Or pick a cover without so many clothes," Rigsby suggested. She shot a glare at him. "What? I didn't mean anything by it. I think you make a nice nun."

"At least she doesn't have a rat's nest growing on her face," Cho said.

Rigsby touched his scraggly faux beard, as though genuinely hurt. "I think it looks good."

"It doesn't," Cho said flatly.

"All right, children," Jane said.

Cho raised his eyebrows. "You're calling us children?"

"Point taken," Jane conceded. "Still – we should probably call this meeting to order."

Lisbon nodded. "Jane's right. We need to figure out the plan, and then I want everyone to try and get a few hours' sleep. God only knows what we'll be facing tomorrow."

Van Pelt looked at her kindly. "Have you heard anything more from Ellie?"

"She's actually very good at keeping in touch," Jane said. "Though her phone etiquette leaves something to be desired."

"And she says Tommy's still alive?" Rigsby asked.

Lisbon nodded. She had her game face on now – cool and utterly unflappable. If it hadn't been so impressive, Jane might find it downright unnerving the way she was able to compartmentalize her feelings when a job needed to be done.

"I talked to him this afternoon. Jane thinks – and I agree – that Ellie won't kill him until I'm there to see it."

"That's sick," Van Pelt said in disgust. "What the hell's wrong with these people?"

"Do you want a list?" Cho asked. She smiled grimly.

"So… Jane," Lisbon said. She looked at him pointedly. "You said you have a plan."

He proceeded to lay out his plan point by point – which took all of five minutes. To be fair, there weren't that many points to it. Not unexpectedly, Lisbon was less than impressed. When he was finished speaking, she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back into the tunnel.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Ow. Do you have to manhandle me while you do?"

"I thought you said you had a plan," she hissed. He could still see the others in the secret chamber, their backs turned in an effort to seem as though they weren't listening. An absurd pretense, really, given the circumstances.

"I do have a plan. I believe you just heard it."

"Your plan is to go in there and talk to her," she said with clear disbelief. "That's it? You don't have some trick or bluff or con or… something, that you're just not telling me about?"

He looked at her regretfully. "I only wish I did," he said, working hard to sell his story. "The fact is, until I have an opportunity to see her face to face, I won't have an idea of which buttons to push… Or if, in fact, that strategy will work at all."

She shook her head. "No way. You said you had a _plan _– that involves strategy, not just you going in there and cold reading her while we hope for the best."

"We don't have many other options," Rigsby said timidly, from inside the chamber. Lisbon's eyes had gone hard, her jaw set.

"This puts everyone at risk, and we still have no idea what she's planning," she insisted.

"But we know she'll be there," Jane said. "We know she'll want to be a part of this. Tommy will be alive when we get there. And Ellie will want you to be there. Those are the only things I can guarantee in this entire scenario – which means those are the elements we have to work with."

She remained silent, clearly unconvinced.

"If we do it," Cho said, "Where do you want us?"

They spent another half an hour laying out the final details of their admittedly sketchy plan. By the time they were through, it was nearly three a.m. Everyone looked exhausted, crowded in the dank, overheated bowels of the orphanage. Lisbon rallied, nodding toward the tunnel exit.

"Remember what I said, you guys – get some sleep tonight. And don't take any stupid risks tomorrow. I already have one member of my family whose life is on the line. I don't want to lose anyone else."

Van Pelt and the others exchanged a loaded glance, then said their goodbyes to Jane and Lisbon before disappearing into the darkness, like some bizarre underworld costume ball. The moment they were gone, Lisbon turned on him.

"You had no right to bring them into this without a plan."

"Oh, please. As if I had a choice. You saw their faces - they want to help. And stop saying I have no plan… I have a plan. You heard it."

She turned her back on him and climbed up the ladder into their room, Jane close behind.

"That's not a plan," she said, the moment they were back in the room. "It's a suicide mission. It's not going to work. You're nuts if you think it will."

She was on the verge of shouting, her body strung tight.

"Will you keep your voice down, woman? What about flying under the radar do you not understand?"

She slammed the trapdoor shut the moment he was inside, and turned on the light. Jane turned it back off an instant later.

"What the hell?" she demanded.

"We're trying not to raise alarms, remember? Mark my words, Ellie is watching this room. She can't know we're up."

"Fine."

He watched as she paced the room like a caged animal. The tension and fear were settled on her shoulders now – he could almost see them, as clearly as he could see the outline of her form in the darkness. He'd been expecting this moment for days now, when she finally unraveled. Now that it was here, he wasn't certain whether he was relieved to find she was human after all, or merely unnerved.

"It's almost over, Lisbon."

She nodded rapidly, arms crossed over her chest. She seemed quieter now, though she was clearly still ready to crawl out of her skin.

"You'll never survive to see morning if you don't calm down."

"Yeah – and that would be a real shame. I wouldn't want to miss this."

He remained where he was a moment longer, watching the restless way that she paced, her anxiety running so high that he could virtually feel it coming off her in waves. Their room was almost cool compared with the heat of the tunnel from which they'd just emerged, but Lisbon's brow glistened with perspiration. He went to her.

"It's going to be all right, Lisbon. Just a few more hours."

"Yeah, I know. Just a few more hours." As though she were trying to convince herself of that fact.

"Come here."

He touched her shoulder, pulling her toward him. She resisted. Instead of allowing him to pull her into an embrace, she rested the top of her head against his chest – a compromise if ever he'd seen one, for Teresa Lisbon. She'd done the same thing the night they'd found Kristina: a gesture that in any other woman might seem inconsequential, perhaps even a little odd. But for Lisbon – a woman who prided herself on standing on her own no matter the circumstance – Jane recognized the significance of her concession.

He rested his hand at the back of her neck. Her hair was up, her skin warm and damp beneath. Her hands tangled in his shirt, fisting the fabric at his stomach. It was difficult to pinpoint when the moment between them changed. It happened gradually, a shift in the tension; in the way Lisbon touched him; in the way his body responded to that touch. Her fingers disentangled from his shirt, pushing the fabric away until he could feel her hands – warm and strong and sure – on his stomach.

She shifted in his arms. Her lips brushed against his collarbone, and for just a moment he stopped breathing.

"Lisbon," he said softly.

He lifted her face, a finger at her chin. Moonlight shone inside their tiny cube of a room, the light casting everything in a pale blue glow. Her eyes held his, a plea there that he knew Lisbon would never speak aloud. He smoothed the hair back from her face. They had less than seven hours. Who knew what would happen from there… Whether Tommy would live or die. Whether _they _would live or die. And, even if everyone did survive, there was still the little matter of a pending murder charge he had to face when he returned home.

He thought of his own words to her earlier the day before, when they'd been alone on the water together: _Whatever happens tomorrow, nothing will ever be quite the same. _

Suddenly, he was absolutely certain of the truth of those words.

He leaned down, his right hand sliding once more to the back of her neck, while his left fell to the small of her back, pulling her closer.

There was no resistance this time. No question of where it would lead. Their lips met and Lisbon came to life, desperation and fear and exhaustion making her more bold than Jane expected she might be, otherwise. She pushed his t-shirt up while he was still reveling in the sweetness of her lips and the salt on her skin. Her small hand moved lower, to find him almost embarrassingly hard. He gasped and jerked backward when she stroked him through his shorts.

"Easy, Lisbon. I haven't done this in a while," he said softly, his mouth at her ear. "Slow down. We have time."

The moment the words were out, he realized how untrue they might actually be, and the realization spurred him to action. He pushed her tank top over her head and then just stood there, spellbound. Lisbon wasn't interested in pausing to savor the moment, however. She backed him up toward the bed, her mouth moving with maddening skill over his chest and up to his collarbone, tonguing over his pulse point until he hissed at the barrage of sensations.

When they reached the bed, he sat and pulled her toward him, parting his legs slightly so she could stand between them. He was eye level with her breasts – pert and freckled, her nipples already peaked to rosy buds.

He reached for the tie to her sarong and undid it with deliberate languor, savoring the scent of her body. The fabric slipped to the floor, and she stood in front on him in the moonlight, bare but for a pair of simple, flowered cotton underpants that made him smile.

She caught the look, and misread it immediately. "What?" Her typical defensiveness was comical, given their position.

"I was right before. You really should wear less more often," he replied. If his tone was a bit more husky than usual, he held Lisbon entirely to blame.

She smiled at the comment, gazing at his bare chest appreciatively. "I could say the same about you."

He slid his index fingers into the seam of her panties, pulling her closer and closer still, until there was no space to breathe between them. Her hands fell to his hair, her fingers tangling in his curls.

"Patrick," she said softly.

"Yes, Teresa," he said. He looked up at her. Her face was open – more vulnerable than he thought he'd ever seen before. She bit her lip. Tears shone in her eyes, though he knew she would rather die than let them fall.

"Don't stop," she finally whispered.

He nodded his understanding. When their lips met again, the kiss was softer but no less urgent. He pulled her onto the bed with him, flipping them so that she lay beneath him. She pushed his shorts down over his hips, and he felt an odd moment of shyness – suddenly realizing how very long it had been.

Lisbon read him like a pro, pausing once he'd been divested of all his clothing. She met his eye.

"Are you all right? I mean, I know you haven't…"

"Just feeling a tad underdressed is all," he said, with a lightness he didn't feel. He eyed her underwear meaningfully. She started to slip them off herself, but he stilled her hands.

"Allow me," he said.

He kissed his way down her body – along the hard edges of her collarbone to the dip at her sternum, tasting each of her breasts until she arched beneath him, her fingers tangled in his hair. The night came to life with the soft music of a Lisbon he'd never glimpsed before: sighs and whispered pleas and shuddered moans that had him almost impossibly turned on.

By the time he pushed her flowered panties past her hips and down over her shapely legs, she was writhing beneath him. It should feel strange, he thought – wrong, awkward… Something other than the comfort and care he felt as he ran a stubbled cheek up her inner thigh, his hands migrating ever closer to her heat. He gave himself over to the moment – the scent of her arousal, the sound of her breath, the feel and taste and sight of her beneath him. His hands and mouth and tongue delved deep, lost in sensation, when he felt her suddenly let go. When she came, it was with a suddenness that surprised him. Her breath hitched in the stillness, her hands clinging to his shoulders.

She pulled him back up, shivering slightly as his body brushed against hers. He got under the blankets and made her do the same, then lay on his side, Lisbon's head resting on his arm.

"Thank you," she said quietly. She was blushing, which amused him to no end.

He licked his lips and gave her a devilish smile. "My pleasure entirely."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm never gonna live this down, am I?"

"What?" he asked innocently. "You really think I'd use your carnal needs against you?"

Her hand drifted lower, closing around his length. He closed his eyes, hissing at the sensation. When he opened them again, she was grinning.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself."

"Oh, come on," she said. She began stroking him, until his breathing was ragged and seeing straight was rapidly becoming a challenge. "Don't I get to have a little fun?"

"It sounded like you were having quite a lot of fun not too long ago. That wasn't enough?"

"You know what I mean."

He stilled her hand. "If you don't stop that, your fun will consist of cleaning up the mess I make all over your thigh. I hope you're prepared for that."

She eyed him cheekily, draping her leg over his. Pressed to her this way, it was all he could do to keep from burying himself to the hilt with a single thrust.

"Is that a hint?" he asked dryly.

"Subtle enough for you?"

"Oh yes. You're a real master." He kissed her lightly, hesitant to bring up what he knew was certainly a required topic. When they parted, he tipped her chin once more to look her in the eye.

"I don't have anything with me," he confessed reluctantly. "A condom, I mean."

She nodded, as though she'd already assumed as much. "I'm clean," she said. "And I assume since you haven't – "

"I wasn't concerned about disease, Lisbon," he said. Again, she looked unsurprised. "Are you… Uh, that's to say, do you take…?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to ask me if I'm on the pill?"

He felt himself blush. Yet another reason he had never tried throwing himself into the dating ring again after Angie died.

"Or some other contraceptive," he said awkwardly. "There seem to be quite a few options now."

"There are," she agreed. A second or two passed in silence, during which time the mood between them intensified once more. "I'm not on any of them, though."

"Oh." He moved back a bit, trying to get some space between them after this somewhat disappointing revelation. She slid her hand to his hip to prevent him from withdrawing any further.

"I don't care," she said. Her words were so soft she might not have spoken them at all. The look in her eye, however, made it clear that she had. She bit her lip. "God help me, Jane… I don't care. Just don't stop," she whispered, repeating her plea from earlier.

It was a defining moment, he realized. There was something so naked, so fearful, about the request, that Jane felt what little shell of a heart he had left break, just a bit. He swallowed past a sudden, undeniable terror. Teresa Lisbon didn't have unprotected sex. She didn't give herself over to her consultant, however strong their attraction might be. He nodded his head, his eyes never leaving hers. His lips found hers once more, his blood heating as the kiss escalated and her body moved with increasing urgency against his.

She rolled to her back and he balanced himself above her – marking the moment, as it were. Nothing would ever be the same. No matter how much she might believe otherwise, he was certain of that fact.

"You're sure?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, no hesitation in her eyes. There was fear there, though – a return to that earlier vulnerability that told him she wasn't blind to the significance of what they were doing. She lifted her hips to his, her arms wrapping around him. "I'm sure," she whispered, her breath warm in his ear.

He pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue sweeping past her lips at the same moment that he pressed himself inside her, burying himself deep. She gasped at the feel of him, her eyes sinking shut when he began to move.

It wasn't about love – he knew that. Not now. It wasn't about future, and it wasn't about romance or happily ever after or any of those treacly greeting card sentiments. It was about need, and release, and a reprieve from the nightmare she was immersed in. Later, he had to admit to a part of him that hoped it might be about those other things. For now, though, he gave himself over to sensation, spurred by his name whispered on her lips and the feel of her body, warm and pliant, enveloping him.

They'd been joined for a surprisingly short time before Jane felt her splinter apart beneath him, her arms wrapping around him and pulling him close, shaking like a dew drop on a new spring leaf. It took another several seconds before he realized she was crying, her tears warm and wet on his shoulder. When he tried to pull back she simply held him tighter, never allowing him to see.

"Don't stop," she whispered again.

He had no words for the moment - a rarity for Patrick Jane. He kissed her neck, her cheek, whatever part of her she would allow him access to, tasting the salt of her tears.

"Look at me, Lisbon," he finally insisted.

"No."

He stopped moving until she complied, her tears still falling. She wouldn't meet his eye. Jane remained above her, the two of them still joined, her legs clasped around his waist to prevent him from straying too far. He smoothed the hair back from her forehead, and rocked gently into her warmth.

Her eyes widened at the sensation.

"Just be here," he said quietly. "You can't control what's going to happen. There's nothing you can do." A single tear fell from the corner of her eye, down the side of her face to the bed sheet beneath. "Let it go, Lisbon."

For the first time since the tears had started, she looked him in the eye. She ran her index finger down his face with surprising care, tracing his eyebrows, his nose, his mouth, his laugh lines. Her tears dried. She arched her body into his, their gazes locked.

"I'm with you," she said. He thrust more deeply, reveling in the way she gasped, the look of pure pleasure on her face. She smiled dryly, a shadow of the old Lisbon returning. "Now you're just showing off. I'm with you, Jane."

"Good." He smiled back. "I'd hate to be all alone in this."

"You're not alone," she said. For the first time in years, he felt as though that was true.

When he came, it was with Lisbon's name on his lips. He was surprised that it took no effort to say it, none whatsoever to remember that Lisbon was the woman in his life now. If he were being honest, he would have to admit that that had been the case for quite some time.

They dozed briefly afterward - on and off, never for long, as the reality of their situation slowly returned. Finally, the sun was up and it was clear neither of them could sleep any longer. Her head rested on his shoulder while he traced endless designs over her skin with his fingertips, learning her body in an entirely new way.

"Jane?" she said, after a long while.

"Mm hmm."

She paused for a moment – a pregnant Lisbon pause, never a sign of good things to come.

"Where's your wedding ring?"

He glanced at her, then at his bare ring finger. "I took it off," he said simply.

"When?"

He sighed, laying down on his back beside her. She started to pull away, but he wrapped his arm around her more securely and pulled her closer.

"I don't know… Hard to say. The days just melt into one another lately."

She punched him in the arm. "I'm serious."

"Ow." He recoiled. "You know, if you're planning on continuing this, I really hope you take those anger management sessions a bit more seriously. You'll do me bodily harm before long."

"You don't know the half of it," she said. "You were wearing it at dinner. When did you take it off?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't," she lied – poorly, as a matter of fact. No surprise, though. Lisbon was a terrible liar.

"I took it off after you went out for your shower."

Her chin was resting on his chest, her eyes studying him relentlessly while he stroked her hair and stared at the ceiling.

"So, you knew this was going to happen?" she asked. There was something loaded about the question, but he wasn't certain what, exactly. Which made it impossible to figure out what the right answer might be.

"I suspected it might," he answered honestly. She got quiet, laying her head back down on his shoulder. Her hair felt like spun silk between his fingers – softer than he'd ever imagined Teresa Lisbon's hair would feel, before this week.

"That wasn't why I took the ring off, though," he said, after another long pause.

Outside, the sun was just coming up. The room filled with a soft golden light, roosters crowing and cathedral bells tolling in the distance. Sunday. The day of reckoning.

"Why, then?"

He rolled to his side, pulling her with him as he went. They faced one another, naked but for a sheet to shield them from the dry chill of early morning. Her body was warm against his, and he could feel himself reacting once again to her proximity. He traced the wound on her cheek. The bandage had come off sometime in the night, and she hadn't put it back on. She was right – it would leave a scar. One of many, as it happened. Teresa Lisbon was a woman with more scars than he'd ever imagined, until now.

"Because I wanted it to happen," he finally confessed. He averted his eyes when she searched his face, reading him in a way he disliked. "It wasn't fair to you or to my wife's memory, leaving it on when that was the case."

She nodded slowly, taking this in. When her eyes slid from his, he knew they were all right – at least on this count. There were another hundred or so obstacles to come, but at least they'd survived the question of his ring. She rolled over, away from him a bit, and began chewing absently at her thumbnail. Nail chewing was never a good sign, either.

"Whatever you want to ask, just ask it," he said. "It's a bit late to get shy on me now, don't you think?"

She smiled faintly, though the worry line at her forehead mitigated the effect. He traced it with his index finger, trying to smooth it away.

"Do you still talk to her?" she asked. Her voice had taken on a querulous quality – as though she might be revealing too much of herself with the question.

He paused for a moment. With another woman, this would be about insecurity, a concern that she couldn't compete with the ghost of his murdered wife. Lisbon wasn't so simple, however – he had a feeling she had no intention of engaging in such a competition. No… This wasn't really about him at all.

"Not as much as I used to," he said.

"But sometimes."

He nodded. When she said nothing more, he lay back down. The children were up outside now, their chatter hushed as they tried not to wake their visitors. He was grateful, suddenly, that he'd nipped the question of morning mass in the bud last evening, explaining that he and the wife would be too tired for it today. Lisbon ran a hand along his bare stomach, the action affecting him with shameful ease.

"I talked to my mom a lot after she died," she said, finally. He said nothing, did nothing – afraid of spooking her. "Sometimes, those were the only conversations that felt real – the ones I had with my dead mother, instead of the actual conversations I'd have with my brothers or friends or teachers at school."

"The dead are infinitely easier to speak with than the living, in my experience," he said.

She laughed. "No kidding."

The cathedral bells rang again. Their time was growing short – he felt it in the air, in the weight of her body against his. Bittersweet, and surprisingly frightening… Jane had thought he'd moved past fear in his life, but here it was again. It turned out he didn't like it anymore now than he ever had.

"I've been talking to Tommy non-stop since this whole thing happened," she said. "All these things I want to say to him – not even big things. Just stupid stuff, like whether he remembers this song we always used to dance to, fooling around in the living room when we were kids." She grew quiet. "It's like I can't get his voice out of my head."

And there it was. He stilled her hand, taking it in his own. Rolled to face her once again. It was seven a.m. – light enough now that he could see the second hands tick past on the clock on the wall.

"He may be fine, Lisbon," he reminded her.

She nodded, her lips fixed in a thoughtful pout. "Yeah. I know."

Partly because he couldn't think of what else to say, and partly because the one thing he _could _think of to say was certain to cause trouble, he leaned in and kissed her again. To his surprise, she returned the kiss without hesitation. Moved against him with the lithe grace of a cat, and a thought he'd been desperate to keep at bay became ever more insistent.

When she began to move lower, her teeth scraping lightly on his skin, he realized that it was no use. It had to be said. He stopped her.

"Lisbon."

She looked at him curiously. Her hair was a mess, her eyes shadowed with fatigue, but he still thought she looked lovely. He pulled her back up until they were level once more, then propped his head in his hand and looked at her seriously.

"I need you to know that whatever happens there today, I'm not leaving you."

She looked confused for a moment, before understanding flickered in her eyes. The iron he'd anticipated steeled her jaw.

"Jane, that might not be your call."

"If Ellie's plan is for you to trade your life for your brother's, I won't allow it."

She sat up, pulling most of the bed sheet with her. "I'm sorry – did you say you won't _allow _it? He's my brother, Jane. I raised him. I can't leave him there to die."

He sat up as well, tracing a strand of her raven hair. Moving in close, when the thing he wanted most in the world was to put as much distance between them as possible.

"Then you should understand how I feel. If it comes down to it, I won't leave that building with only your brother by my side. You can't expect me to do that. You shouldn't."

She became thoughtful suddenly. "You really think that's her plan? To make me choose – my life for his?"

Jane shook his head. He'd been over this and over it. He honestly only wished he knew.

"I don't know what her plan is, I'm just telling you mine. I won't leave without you. I want you to promise me you won't ask me to."

"I can't promise you that." Her eyes gleamed in the dim light of the room, no trace of guile to be found. She would never make a promise she couldn't keep – that was part of the beauty of Lisbon.

They reached a stalemate. Rather than arguing the point any further, however, Lisbon surprised him by leaning in and kissing him again. He moved backward and eyed her suspiciously.

"Is this some new tactic you plan to employ to win all our arguments?"

"I don't want to argue anymore," she said. She was trying to inject humor into her tone, but without much success. "I don't want to think about what might happen. I don't want to wonder what Ellie has planned."

He nodded. "So you're looking for another distraction, then?"

She ran her hand up his thigh, managing to look both coy and vulnerable simultaneously. Only Lisbon could pull off such a thing, he thought wryly. "Is that a problem?"

His eyes fell shut as her fingers edged ever closer to what was rapidly becoming hard evidence that it would not, in fact, be a problem in the least.

"You're a devil woman, you know that? The holier-than-thou St Teresa was clearly a smoke screen all these years. I knew it."

In a single move, he lay back down, pulling Lisbon with him. She lay on top, the sheet cast aside for the moment. He stretched languidly. "You have to do the work this time, though," he said. "You've worn me out."

She sat up, straddling him. Sunlight filled the room – Lisbon was golden with the glow of it. Jane's hands fell to her hips. He watched her move, watched the way her face changed, tracked the instant when she finally let go and gave herself over to the moment. All the while, the minutes continued to speed past - Jane had never been more acutely aware of the ticking clock. He pulled her closer, buried himself deeper, and closed his eyes at the taste of her lips on his, no longer able to deny the one thing about which he was certain:

Their time was running out.

_TBC_

* * *

><p><em><strong>And... There we have it. Hope everyone's still on board with this, and you guys didn't find Jane and Lisbon's actions too OOC (or too long - I know this was an epic chapter). Next chap will be up on Thursday, and it's the big one: the stand-off with Ellie. Will Tommy survive? Will Jane and Lisbon come out of this whole thing intact? And where on earth does Frankenstein fit into all of it? All these questions and more will be answered on Thursday. Or most of them, anyway. :-) Thanks for reading!<strong>_


	23. Chapter 23

_I'm sooo sorry for the lengthy wait 'til the next chapter on this - I got a whole series of unexpected assignments that came in at once, so I've been writing morning 'til night to pay the rent. Great for my checkbook; not so great for my fic life. Plus, I wanted to wait until I had everything pretty much complete so that I could be sure to post it in quick succession now that everything is unfolding at a breakneck pace. We only have three chapters to go here... Or two chapters and an epilogue, I suppose I should say. Chapter 24 will be up on Sunday, and we'll finish up with the epilogue on Monday. And... Here we go._

_Chapter Twenty-Three_

At nine o'clock that morning, Lisbon carefully returned the crucifix she'd taken from the wall of their "hotel" room, back to its rightful spot at the head of the bed. Jane smirked at her.

"I see I wasn't the only one with a premonition that things might lean toward the untoward last night."

Lisbon crossed herself and climbed back down off the bed. "Bite me, Jane."

He yawned widely. "Meh. Been there, done that. Though I may take you up on the offer later – once this is over. As I recall, you're surprisingly sweet on the tongue."

He was baiting her, she knew. Waiting for her to bring up the conversation they'd been avoiding ever since… Well, since this whole thing started. Since he broke out of jail and they skipped town and she woke up feverish and half-naked in his arms and glimpsed this whole other side of him and…

She wasn't thinking about that right now, dammit.

Of course, not thinking about her and Jane meant that she was thinking about Tommy instead. In comparison, the Jane dilemma was a walk in the park. She felt more in control now than she had in a few days – at the memory of the way she'd lost it in Jane's arms (twice now), she winced. These past few days definitely hadn't been her finest. And last night…

Well, last night just seemed like a dream. Not necessarily a bad one because, she was willing to admit, sleeping with Jane definitely had its moments. Quite a few of them, as a matter of fact. But if everything unfolded the way she expected it to today, then the whole thing had been completely unfair to him. He might not have been complaining at the time, but it wasn't right for her to give him that opening, make that connection, only to break it as violently as she expected would be necessary by the time the day was out.

Last night, though, there'd been no question in her mind. No doubt. She'd needed him – even she would admit it, much as she hated to. She'd needed his calm, his cool, needed to feel something besides fear and sadness and the minutes ticking by.

"If you don't shut that thing down soon, I expect to see steam coming out of your ears before the morning's out," Jane said, tapping her lightly on the temple. "Come on – let's see if Rosita left anything for breakfast."

He took her hand to lead her out of the room. She was holding hands with Jane. It was official: they'd stepped into some kind of weird alternate universe. His wedding band was still gone; she found that it was harder to adjust to that than it had been the idea of Jane in jeans and t-shirts. She stopped dead in the doorway, and he turned to her inquiringly.

She looked down at his hand. "You can put it back on, you know."

"I know."

"But you're not going to."

"Not at the moment, no." He looked at her in that appraising way he had, but there was a tiny hint of uncertainty there – a chink in the armor. "Does that bother you?"

"No," she lied. "I just… I mean, I've never seen you without it before. And whatever happened between us last night…"

He grinned, obviously enjoying the fact that she was turning herself inside out. "You really want to have this conversation now?"

"We need to have it sometime, Jane."

"Eh – Perhaps. But what if for right now we just pretend it's not necessary, and we focus our energy on more pressing matters."

He took her hand again and pulled her toward the door. "Come on, Lisbon. The absence of my wedding band is my concern, not yours."

The sun was brighter than she'd expected, coming from their dimly lit room. She blinked in the glare of it, taking in the chickens pecking at the dirt and the too-skinny dogs lurking in the shadows. Isadora's soccer ball lay in the middle of the dusty yard. The sight made her think of Tommy… Really, what the hell _didn't _make her think of Tommy right now?

"We don't know what will happen today," she said, walking alongside him. "_I _don't know what will happen today. But if something goes wrong and I don't make it out, I need to know that you'll be all right."

"Well, I won't be all right," he said.

She stopped walking and stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"It's quite simple, really. Why would I be all right if something happened to you?" he said, in that maddeningly logical way he had. "Obviously, I don't handle losing people close to me terribly well… If you should know anything about me by now, you should know that. It's silly to pretend I would be all right, and I won't do so merely to make you feel better about the secret plan you're hatching to fall on your sword to save your brother."

"I'm not hatching a secret plan."

He turned to face her with an all-knowing smile. "Look me in the eye and tell me there's not a significant part of you that believes you won't walk out of this today. You believe you're going to die," he said, as casually as if he'd just made some comment on the weather. "That's the only reason Teresa Lisbon would have unprotected sex with her consultant – or anyone, for that matter. It's the reason you've been so pensive and sad these last twelve hours. Not because you think you're going to lose your brother, but because you think you're going to have to die to save him."

God, sometimes she just hated him. "You don't know that."

"Of course I do," he said. "Face it, Lisbon, I know you. And I'm not going to let you die. If that means you lose your brother, then I'm genuinely sorry and I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening. But, as I told you last night… If it comes down to a choice between you or him, I'm choosing you. I'm not leaving Mexico without you."

She stared him down. "Listen to me, for once in your life. This isn't about you, Jane. This is my family. Tommy is my responsibility - I'll do whatever I have to do to get him back safely. And if you stand in my way…"

She'd expected him to back down, but he didn't so much as blink. "I seem to recall uttering a very similar threat myself, not so long ago. It's just nonsense, Lisbon. You can punch me in the nose again if you like, but you're not going to die today. It's just not going to happen." He turned away before they could continue the fight.

"Now, come on," he called back over his shoulder. "We should find some food and get on the road before it gets much later. I'm sure Ellie will want us there on time."

Who else but Jane could piss her off about wanting to keep her safe? Lisbon stalked along behind him, her mind going ninety miles an hour. Time was running out – Jane could make light of it as much as he wanted, but Lisbon knew the score. Whatever Tommy's faults might be, he was still her brother – letting him die today so that she could live wasn't an option. No. Whatever Ellie wanted in exchange for Tommy's life, Lisbon was ready and willing to give.

* * *

><p>Just before they were leaving the hotel, Lisbon stopped Jane – her hand on his arm, gazing at him plaintively.<p>

"Jane."

"What is it?" He looked around, the urgency on her face enough to set him slightly off kilter on an already very off kilter day.

"Put your ring back on. Please."

He realized then that he'd been fidgeting – his thumb rubbing across his very naked-feeling ring finger in an unconscious move that was leaving him more and more uneasy.

"Lisbon, I don't need – "

"Jane, listen to me." She looked at him seriously. There was something about Lisbon that always surprised him when she looked at him this way – as though for all his purported psychic abilities, she was the one who could truly read minds. He said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

"Last night was about comfort – you know that as well as I do. It's not something you change your whole life over. Right now, I don't want anything distracting you. Not having that ring on is distracting you. You might feel like you cheated on your wife last night, but – "

"I don't," he interrupted.

She narrowed her eyes, clearly trying to gauge whether or not he was lying. "You don't?"

"No." He shrugged. "I'm as surprised about that as you, believe me. But I don't feel as though I was cheating last night. I didn't when you were in my arms, and I don't now. The ring has become something I'm used to having – a piece of what I lost, that I can carry with me." That was simplifying matters in the extreme, he realized, but there was still some truth in what he was saying.

Lisbon saw right through him, however. "Whatever it is or isn't to you, Jane, you're used to having it. Just put it back on already."

He made no move to do so, though he was torn and knew it showed on his face. Lisbon shook her head, stalked over to him, and, much to his surprise, reached into his front pants pocket. She fished around with great deliberation, an evil little smile on her face, until she found what she was looking for.

She produced the wedding ring, took his hand, and set it firmly in the center of his palm. "Put it on, Jane."

He did as he was told.

* * *

><p>Lisbon drove. They'd gone half a mile, perhaps more, when a large black SUV sped past them. Jane counted five men in the car.<p>

"Lisbon."

She didn't look at him. "I saw."

"We have to go back," he said, doing his level best to keep his tone even.

Again, she kept her eyes on the road, her foot steady on the accelerator. Her jaw was set, both hands on the wheel.

"Lisbon – it's a trap. You know exactly where they're headed."

"The others can handle it." Her voice came out hoarse. Jane noticed that her knuckles had gone white on the steering wheel.

He dialed Cho's cell phone to warn him, spoke with the agent briefly, and then settled back in his seat, staring out the window at the dismal landscape as it passed them by.

"I have to be there for him," she said. It sounded like an apology. Jane merely nodded.

"I understand."

They drove the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

><p>The Miguel Angel was an old abandoned hotel on the outskirts of town, a paint chipped sign riddled with bullet holes hanging on a rusted wrought iron fence. Tumbleweeds rolled lazily across the road, the dusty front yard littered with trash and debris. The hotel itself was like a little stucco fortress, with the fence around the perimeter and a watch tower in the back. Lisbon spotted a sniper up in the tower the second they drove up, his rifle trained on their car.<p>

There were two Hummers parked out front, both black.

Jane kept quiet next to her. Aside from his breathing, it was like the whole world had gone silent. He nodded toward the tower when she reached for the door handle.

"We're not alone."

"I know," she said. "Did you think we would be?"

He shook his head.

They got out. Though neither of them said it, they both knew that Ellie hadn't had them drive all this way just so she could pick them off before she got to see them face to face.

Lisbon led the way to the gate, Jane a couple of steps behind her. Back in the Academy, they used to have training drills like this – going into an abandoned place, and you had to be ready to react to whatever came your way: bad guys, good guys, kids in danger… Whatever. She'd been good at it; hell, she'd liked it. Of course, as real as they tried to make it, you always knew it was just a game. You were going home at the end of the day. Maybe a little beaten up, but nothing that a hot bath and a couple aspirin wouldn't fix.

She checked the front gate for trip wires before she opened it, holding her breath until she got through without blowing up. She'd never missed a training drill more.

Once they got past the gate, she looked around for some clue as to where they were supposed to go next. The sun was so hot by then that she was baking, sweat dripping down her back and across her forehead. As though by mutual decision – though neither of them had talked about it – they were both back in their old CBI uniforms: Jane in three-piece suit (minus the jacket), Lisbon in jeans, t-shirt, and blazer. Already, she was regretting the decision. Even Jane looked damp.

He pointed toward something in front of them – a red arrow, painted on the cracked walkway.

"Great," she said. "So, I guess we'll be able to find our way back out again."

Jane didn't say anything to that.

They followed six red arrows – first through a wooden door that stood open at the front of the hotel, then straight through the hotel lobby and out a door in the back leading to a central courtyard.

It was deserted. An old concrete swimming pool lay empty at the center of the yard, a couple of iguanas basking in the sun at the bottom among broken bottles and piles of trash.

"What the hell?" Lisbon asked. "There's nobody – "

Jane stopped her, his hand on her arm. "Lisbon."

She turned in the direction he indicated, until they were both facing directly into the sun. Lisbon blinked in the glare, raising her hand to block the light. Her heart dropped like a stone.

Across the courtyard, maybe thirty feet away, a dollhouse sat on a low platform. Unlike the others Ellie had made, this wasn't a partial – it was complete, and obvious even from where they were standing, exactly what it was.

"St Agatha's," Jane said quietly. The orphanage they had just come from.

Lisbon's mouth went dry. The miniature replica was wired to a small bundle of explosives. About five feet beyond the dollhouse, strapped to a chair beneath a graceful archway, sat Tommy. His chin was on his chest, his eyes closed. He was filthy, his face gaunt and pale beneath a patchy beard. A second bomb was strapped to his chest.

Ellie Jennings appeared from behind the arch. Lisbon reached for her gun – a reflex that she knew she couldn't act on. Ellie smiled.

"Thank you for coming," the woman said.

In all her years bringing down some of the lowest forms of life on the planet, Lisbon had never wanted someone dead more than at that moment.

* * *

><p>Like most sociopaths in the world, Ellie Jennings didn't look like a monster. She was petite and blonde, wearing jeans and an immaculate, white crewneck t-shirt. Seated and bound, Lisbon's brother still reached the woman's shoulder – Jane thought she was probably even smaller than Lisbon.<p>

Lisbon had gone still beside him, her hand already reaching for her gun.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Ellie said cheerily.

"We're here," Lisbon said. "Just like you asked. Now what?"

"Well," Ellie amended. "Not _exactly _as I asked."

Jane spotted two more men with sniper rifles on the roof, their sights trained on he and Lisbon. It occurred to him – not for the first time – that, whoever Ellie Jennings was, her psychotic break had been very well funded.

"Nonsense," Jane said. "We've driven here on your timeline without involving the police. We're here now, just as you asked. Really, I've never heard of anyone making a simple kidnapping such an ordeal."

"You didn't come alone," Ellie said.

It wasn't as unexpected as Jane supposed it should have been, learning that Ellie already knew about the others. Disconcerting, yes. Disappointing, to be sure. But not terribly unexpected. He walked away from Lisbon, strolling around the courtyard.

"This is nice," he said, waving his hand in a gesture meant to encompass the entire scene. "Very dramatic. It wouldn't have been nearly so effective, just having us drive to the Bay area or something. You have a real flair."

"Stop that," Ellie said. He watched her out of the corner of her eye, noting that she appeared to have a nervous tic of some kind – a twitch of her head that was most likely stress-related rather than medical.

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets when Lisbon hissed his name, returning to her side obediently.

"Sorry," he said. "Just getting the lay of the land."

Another guard came out and took Lisbon's gun from her, then searched both of them thoroughly. Jane found himself decidedly less comfortable knowing that Lisbon was unarmed. Much as he hated guns, he had to admit that he breathed easier when he knew Teresa had at least one.

He nodded toward the dollhouse, maintaining his usual casual air. "Do you mind if I…?"

"Dammit, Jane," Lisbon said under her breath.

Ellie took a step closer to Tommy. Jane noted that she held a knife in one hand; in the other, what looked like a remote control – no doubt a detonator.

"If you what?" Ellie asked. She wet her lips. That tenuous control she'd had was slipping more quickly than Jane had expected – not a good sign. If he pushed her too fast, there was no telling what she would do.

"I just wanted to look at the dollhouse," he said. "They're quite extraordinary, really. Have you always made them?"

Their eyes met across the courtyard – hers sharp and bright, even from a distance, taking in everything in their sights.

"We used to make them together," she said – so quietly that Jane had to take a step forward, just to hear her.

"You and Red John?" he asked. "Er – John, I suppose, to you. He was handy, then?"

He waited for Lisbon to tell him to be quiet, but it seemed for the moment that she was too consumed with the sight of her brother, bound and obviously injured.

"Come closer," Ellie said, ignoring the conversation Jane had been hoping to start.

He and Lisbon did as they were told, picking their way around the narrow swimming pool. They stopped just a few feet from the dollhouse. Another armed guard stood at attention, rifle at the ready, perhaps ten feet from Tommy. Just when Jane was preparing to restart the conversation, Tommy groaned. Lisbon advanced only two steps, her entire body taut, before Ellie moved behind her brother, brandishing the knife.

"That's close enough."

"Easy, Lisbon," Jane warned.

"Yes," Ellie agreed, with a sudden, merry twinkle. She was in control again. "Easy, Lisbon."

"What's the plan here, Ellie?" Lisbon asked. Her voice was tight, though Jane could see that she was desperate to appear calm. "You have us where you want us. You said you'd let my brother go if we came here… We're here. What's next?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Ellie asked. "Painfully so, I should think. You have a choice to make."

"Then take me," Lisbon said quickly. Just as Jane had expected – he felt a jolt of annoyance before fear rushed in to take its place. "Let him and Jane go."

Ellie laughed at her. "Where's the fun in that? No… I imagine you and Mr. Jane here would be only too happy to give up your lives for one another. Tommy's said much the same thing. It's a bit dreary, being surrounded by such nobility."

She put her hand on Tommy's shoulder with what seemed genuine fondness. The man gazed at her with unfocused eyes, clearly drugged.

"No… There's no fun in making you or Mr. Jane such willing martyrs for the cause." She indicated the dollhouse with a wave of her hand. "Did you think I made that for my health? The choice is simple…"

Lisbon wet her lips. Jane could see a glimmer of panic beginning to settle there. "Don't do this," she said – her voice calm, quiet, completely reasonable. "You don't want to do this."

"Don't I, though?" Ellie asked. "Your brother or the orphanage. My team is waiting to learn of your decision… If my dollhouse goes up in flames, they know they have _carte blanche_ control over everyone at St Agatha's. And just to sweeten the deal, I'll throw your CBI colleagues in with the children – well, most of them, at any rate. It seems our friend Jack has taken a liking to Agent Van Pelt, so I can't make any promises on that count. But otherwise…"

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" Lisbon asked. "My people could have gotten the drop on your guys. For all I know, the entire situation is under control."

She'd no more than said it than the cell phone Ellie had provided at the beginning of this whole nightmare, rang in Lisbon's pocket. She and Jane both nearly jumped out of their skin. Ellie chuckled merrily.

"It's for you," she said. She winked at Lisbon.

Jane watched with growing dread as Lisbon answered the phone. He couldn't hear what was being said, but the look on Lisbon's face conveyed the message quite clearly. She nodded rapidly, her color drained and something dark and hopeless clouding her eyes.

"Don't do anything, Rigs," she said, her voice rough. "You guys just sit tight, do whatever they tell you." She closed her eyes suddenly, in response to something Rigsby had said. Before she answered, she let out a shaky breath. "Van Pelt can take care of herself, Rigsby. She's a strong agent. We'll get her back."

Another few seconds of conversation passed before Lisbon hung up the phone. When she looked at Jane, he was certain he'd never seen her so angry.

"I'm not doing anything until you call your man off Van Pelt," she said to Ellie, her voice just a hair above a very dangerous whisper. "Get her back with my men, or the whole deal's off. Kill everybody for all I care. I'm not negotiating until I know she's safe."

It was one hell of a bluff. Jane didn't intercede – it seemed at the moment that Lisbon was very clear on her priorities. To be fair, he didn't want to think of Van Pelt locked in a room with the psychopath who had already left his mark on Lisbon anymore than she did.

Finally, after a brief standoff, Ellie made the call, ordering that Van Pelt be returned to her colleagues, unharmed.

Once the call had been made, Ellie hung up the phone and looked at Lisbon with a smile that spread like oil on her thin lips.

"Jack's not happy about that. I suspect you'll have to make it up to him."

Jane's stomach clenched at the thought. Lisbon didn't even blink. Ellie yawned broadly.

"All right, that little detail is taken care of. Of course, if you decide to spare your brother, Jack will have free reign over everyone in that orphanage – including your Agent Van Pelt. In which case, you're merely delaying the inevitable."

"Why are you doing this?" Lisbon asked. Her tone conveyed clearly just how incomprehensible the entire scenario was to her. "What do you think you're gonna get out of this, besides a lethal injection the second you're caught? And believe me when I say you'll be caught."

"But I'll have fun until that happens," Ellie said. There wasn't the slightest trace of remorse in her eyes. "So… Here's the way it goes. You make your choice – Tommy or your colleagues and the children and whatever other unlucky souls happen to be in the orphanage this morning. If you choose your brother, I'll untie him and the three of you can walk away right now."

"And if she chooses the orphanage?" Jane asked.

"Jane," Lisbon said, her tone half-threatening, half-pleading.

Ellie didn't even have to consider the question. "Then I call my men off. They drive away, and in a few weeks this will all just be a cautionary tale, something the children there think back to with a shudder, wondering '_What if…?_'"

"And you let Lisbon and I go?" he pressed.

This time, the lunatic woman did have to think about it. "One life for all those others hardly seems fair, does it?" she asked rhetorically. "Jack won't be happy about it… He'll want a word with Agent Lisbon, before I allow you to go home."

Jane closed his eyes for a moment. "So, to clarify… Our choice is for us to allow you to kill Lisbon's brother and then for me to stand by while your associate assaults and most likely murders my partner here, or for us to stand by while your men terrorize and murder our colleagues and an orphanage full of innocent children."

He whistled softly, shaking his head. "Talk about Sophie's choice."

Lisbon glanced at him as though he'd lost his mind, the panic settling fully on her shoulders now.

"Rese, it's not a choice," Tommy said unexpectedly. His voice sounded thick, strained. He managed to rouse himself enough to sit up in his chair, looking directly at his sister. "You know it's not. Just walk away from here… You know what you've gotta do."

Lisbon appeared frozen in place. Jane clucked his tongue, struggling to maintain some appearance of his usual, impassive façade.

"I have to hand it to you," he said to Ellie, "this is clever. Diabolical, even. So… In that twisted little brain of yours, this would make you Frankenstein? And Lisbon and I are the monsters… Created only to be tormented by you? I'm still a bit unclear on that."

"Make your choice," Ellie said.

Her voice was harder now, her hand clenched tight around the knife. She moved forward and grabbed hold of Tommy's hair, pulling his head back roughly. She pressed the blade to his throat. Jane noted that she'd had to attach the detonator to her belt buckle, in order to have both hands free.

Lisbon took a step forward, but stopped when half a dozen rifles took aim at her head.

"You know, all this melodrama is a little crass," Jane continued, unperturbed. "I honestly think Red John would be embarrassed at the display. Even at his worst, he was far more subtle than this."

"Shut up," Ellie said quietly. Her eyes remained on Lisbon's as the knife broke the white skin on Tommy's throat, a bubble of crimson blood appearing. "The clock's ticking. What's your choice?"

"Teresa, you need to go," Tommy said. His eyes sought Jane's; it was all Jane could do not to look away. "Get her out of here. You know what she has to do."

"I'm not leaving," Lisbon said. For the first time, Jane heard the despair creep into her voice. "I won't just leave you."

"You remember when we were kids, Rese?" Tommy asked. His eyes returned to Lisbon's while Jane just stood there, helpless. "How many jams you pulled me out of, how many times you stood up and taught me what it meant to be a good person – to try and make a difference? And my whole life, all I did was bitch about what a raw deal we got, expect somebody to hand me whatever I needed on a platter. I've never once done something for anybody but myself."

"That's not true," Lisbon said. She shook her head defiantly. "You're a good man."

"No, I'm not," Tommy said, immediately. His voice was surprisingly strong, his gaze steady. For the first time, Jane could see that the family resemblance between the siblings was more than skin deep. "But I can do this. You can tell Annie that her old man didn't die a loser - that I did something good for once in my life. You'll tell her that, won't you, Rese?"

She wiped her tears away roughly, shaking her head. "I'm not letting you die," she whispered.

"Rese," Tommy said. He looked at her with a sweetness Jane hadn't suspected him capable of. "Don't make the rest of my life about a bunch of kids who died because you weren't strong enough to let me go. Don't do that to me. Don't do that to Anna Beth."

Jane put his hand on her arm, pulling her gently back. "Teresa."

She shook him off. "I'm not going," she said. Her voice broke. For once, Jane didn't back off. He took another step forward, holding onto her more firmly now.

"Lisbon," he said. "Look at me." It took her a few seconds, but eventually she did. Her eyes were swimming with tears, the eyes haunted. It was clearly her worst nightmare come to life. "I'm making the choice for you, Teresa. You remember the girl and her brother last night? We're not letting them die."

"I'm curious," Ellie said. Jane tore her gaze from Lisbon's, to look at the woman.

"About what, exactly?"

"You're about to make this choice for your friend," she continued. "But if you'd been given the same opportunity – to save dozens of innocent children, or your wife and daughter… What would you have chosen?"

"My family," he said instantly. "You could have had two hundred orphans and the Pope himself, and I wouldn't have hesitated."

She smiled, as though she appreciated his honesty. "Perhaps that's why John didn't ask you to choose, then," she speculated. "Why is it any different for Agent Lisbon?"

"Because she's better than me," he said. Lisbon was standing rigid by his side, her hands clenched into fists. "I wouldn't have lost a single night's sleep. She'll never forgive herself."

He looked at Lisbon. When their eyes met, he knew she recognized the truth of his words. The realization of what he had to do set in once more. He took a breath. It would kill her, he knew, living with the knowledge that she'd put her own needs, the life of her brother, above that of thirty-odd children and the colleagues she'd come to love. Ellie was watching the entire proceeding with rapt attention, her eyes glittering with anticipation.

"You know what has to be done," he said quietly.

He waited for Lisbon to argue, but she seemed to be in a state of shock. "I can't," she whispered desperately.

He nodded in understanding. "You're not," he said. "I am." He looked at Ellie.

"You have to let us leave before your colleague returns," he said. "Lisbon's condition was that Van Pelt be spared. Mine is that your psychotic friend doesn't get his hands on either of us. You call your friends, tell them to walk away. We'll do the same."

Lisbon was trembling beside him, her eyes cast to the ground. Tommy's head was still back, the blade of Ellie's knife still digging into his pale throat. Jane tried to imagine how this could possibly go any other way; all the things he should have done differently, to prevent it from reaching this point.

Ellie hesitated. "One life for all those others," she mused.

"You know you're getting more than that," Jane said, his voice harder than he usually allowed. "You know exactly what this is doing. You've gotten your wish. She won't be the same, after we walk away."

"That's true," Ellie agreed, taking a moment to consider his point.

Jane's mind was reeling, still trying to think of a way out of this. And then, far off in the distance, he heard it – the thrum of a helicopter, so low it might have merely been his imagination, had he not been half-expecting it. His knees very nearly went out from under him with relief. Ellie's men might have Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt, but Jane had purposely recruited a second offensive if the first proved ineffective.

He just had to keep Ellie talking, keep her distracted.

Keep her calm.

"You know, I really am curious about your inclusion of the Frankenstein tale in all of this…" he said. His voice was calm, surprisingly cool. Sometimes, he amazed even himself. "Agent Cho and I had a little wager going. I'd love to be able to settle up with him, once the smoke clears."

Lisbon turned and stared at him – so surprised she almost forgot her despair, for just an instant.

Ellie hesitated. She loosed her grip on Tommy's head, taking a single step away from him. If help were to arrive, Jane realized, they would have a clean shot. Of course, they'd have to get rid of the guerrilla army Ellie had recruited to protect the place first.

"I went to see Kristina Frye a couple of days before you murdered her," Jane said. He did his best to keep his tone from hardening at the reminder. "I don't believe in such nonsense, of course, but while I was there Kristina 'channeled' your good friend."

It was as though all the air had been sucked from the entire area. Ellie stared at him for a long moment, her right hand – the one holding the knife – falling to her side.

"You're lying," she accused him.

Jane shook his head. "Afraid not. That was why you were so angry at her, wasn't it – the reason you killed Kristina with such fury? She wouldn't let you speak with Red John, though you'd been coming there for weeks, trying to make contact."

He saw tears touch her eyes. For just a moment, he felt just a hint of pity. It wasn't her fault she was stark raving mad, after all.

The helicopter sounds had stopped – part of the plan, of course. LaRoche and Hightower and company could hardly just show up here and hope to extract Lisbon, Tommy, and himself simply by virtue of their presence and a CBI badge that meant less than nothing in Mexico. No… They would have to sneak in.

"It must have been very lonely," Lisbon said, startling Jane out of his reverie. She looked like she felt genuinely sorry for the woman. "After Patrick killed your friend, I mean. I've lost people, you know. We both have," she said, looking at Jane. "We know what it's like."

The woman smiled unexpectedly. "Grief brings you to life," she said. "John understood that. He did that for you." She looked directly at Jane. "To make you understand all that you hadn't seen before. The colors you were missing. I see everything, since you took him away."

All at once, she gripped the knife more tightly. Jane tensed when she looked him in the eye.

"We're all monsters," Ellie whispered. Her eyes shone with that empty light particular to lunatics. "Lonely monsters, trying to make a connection. You. Me. John, too. He made us that way."

"He who?" Lisbon asked sharply. "You're saying Red John wasn't the one who started all of this? He wasn't the one who made you the way you are?"

A kind of euphoria touched Ellie's face – the kind Jane had seen at church revivals and footage of Elvis Presley concerts. She smiled widely.

"John was my brother – not my father. We shaped one another, nurtured each other, learned how the taste of blood could set us free."

Jane unwillingly took a step back at her growing fervor. Tommy was watching all of this with the first vestiges of hope on his face: it was working. Jane was drawing her further and further out of herself, out of this stage play she'd created. Even Lisbon was still, waiting for Jane to continue working his magic.

"Uh, that's a lovely sentiment," Jane said. "Though I doubt you'll sell a lot of greeting cards with it."

The quip was lost on Ellie, who seemed to be focused on something just above and beyond Jane's head. He resisted the urge to turn and see what it might be.

"Father breathed life into all of us," she continued. When she still didn't look away from that spot behind him, Jane felt his first hint of misgivings. "He set us on our path. He'll see this through to the end."

Jane reached for Lisbon's arm, all traces of self-satisfaction gone. He pulled her closer to him, swallowing past a sudden rushing in his ears.

Something was happening.

"Won't you, Father?" Ellie asked, her face suddenly a mask of perfect calm.

A shot rang out.

Jane pushed Lisbon to the ground a second before it happened, only realizing after the fact that they weren't the target. Lisbon lay beneath him on the cracked and chipped limestone ground, scrambling to get away from him. Jane stopped her with a hand on her arm, as every guard in the place set their sights on her.

The realization of what had happened sank in for him a micro-second before it registered for Lisbon. While she was still trying to get out from under him, still trying to determine where the shot had come from, Jane saw where the bullet had landed. He caught Lisbon's arm and held on tightly as she got to her feet. She looked up. Followed his gaze. Jane fought the urge to turn away when she cried out, using all of his strength to hold her back once she realized what he was looking at.

Tommy sat slumped in his chair, a neat, dark hole in the center of his forehead.

Jane turned around. Behind them, CBI Director Gale Bertram stood with his pistol still raised, a smooth, self-satisfied smile on his lips.

_**TBC**_

_Now you see why it was so important I wait and post the final chapters quickly? Look for Chapter 24 on Sunday, and don't forget to press that magic button below to give me your thoughts. Oh... And, it turns out that over the course of writing this I've realized that one installment just isn't enough for this little 'verse I've created (at least, it's not for me... Hopefully it's not for you guys, either). So, there will be another fic in the series once this one is complete. _


	24. Chapter 24

_Chapter Twenty-Four_

"What did I tell you about playing with your food?" Bertram said lightly to Ellie, with an unmistakably paternal air. It said something about everything that had happened in the past year, Jane thought, that he wasn't at all surprised to find the CBI Director standing there.

The disappointment on Ellie's face was downright childlike. "We were talking."

"They made their choice," Bertram said. "That should have been the end of it. Jane here was playing you – they have reinforcements on the way."

Lisbon swayed. Her body had gone limp after that initial burst of adrenaline. Now, she stood with her shoulders sagging, Jane's hands on her arms – as much to hold her up as to hold her back. She didn't even react to Bertram's presence, her attention focused entirely on her brother's inert form.

Jane swiped a hand across his mouth, fighting a sudden wave of nausea.

"There's no time to debrief," Bertram said. "I'm sure you'll figure out the bulk of the story after we've gone, anyway." He looked at Ellie. "You made a deal, didn't you? You know how I feel about that – time to hold up your end of the bargain. Call Jack and tell him to pack things up. We've gotta get moving."

Ellie did as she was told. She set the detonator and the knife neatly on the ground and pulled out her cell phone. While Ellie chatted almost cheerfully to whomever was on the other end of the line, Bertram approached them. Jane felt as though he was truly seeing the man for the first time

"You're free to go once Ellie and I have gone – the guards have their orders. Your weapons have already been returned to your car."

Lisbon blinked, as though locked in some kind of trance. "Why…?" she asked. She shook her head. Her eyes drifted back to her brother's body.

Bertram seemed to consider the question. "Ellie wanted to," he finally said. As though that explained everything. "But you'll understand, in time. Patrick already knows, of course – grief makes everything sharper. Vengeance gives you purpose. We're all bound now. Tied by the hunt, linked inextricably by the kill." He shrugged. "I could go on, but we really should be going. We'll meet again, though. This is far from finished – I'm sure you'll both agree with me on that."

They just stood there after that – Jane and Lisbon, stunned and utterly impotent, as Bertram discussed something with the guards briefly and then he and Ellie simply walked away. No fanfare, no final threatening words… They simply walked off. Laughing – that was the thing that bothered Jane the most, he supposed. Ellie had become chatty and girlish immediately upon Bertram's appearance.

This had indeed been nothing but a game, to her. Some mad form of child's play.

Once they were gone, the others – six guards, all Hispanic men in their late teens to early twenties – left as well. Within ten minutes after the first and final shot was fired, Jane and Lisbon stood alone in the courtyard. Three buzzards circled overhead. The air danced before them, thick with the heat. Jane realized he'd perspired through his shirt.

Lisbon went to her brother's side. Jane turned his back, giving her a moment.

When he turned back around, she was seated on the ground, her head resting against Tommy's leg. Jane thought suddenly of Charlotte at four and five years old, sitting in much the same way – her arm wrapped around his leg, her curly head pressed to his knee. He felt the familiar, dull-edged ache of loss for just a moment, before he returned his attention to the present. Life now, rather than life then.

Lisbon was deathly pale, her eyes vacant. Jane went and stood beside her, as though keeping vigil. They didn't touch, and they didn't speak. They simply remained there… Waiting for reinforcements.

Waiting for the nightmare to end.

That was the tableau that LaRoche and Hightower found when they arrived, within ten minutes of Bertram's departure: Jane standing helpless to the side, his hands deep in his pockets; Tommy slumped in his chair; Lisbon seated at his feet, dry-eyed, trembling with shock and fatigue. Jane realized that, once again, he had been right – after today, nothing would ever be the same.

* * *

><p>"I told you I could take care of myself," Van Pelt was saying to Rigsby when Jane, Lisbon, LaRoche, and Hightower returned to the orphanage half an hour later. She looked unmistakably smug, despite a cut lip and swelling eye.<p>

Lisbon was in the car – Jane couldn't get her to move. LaRoche and Hightower, still shell shocked themselves, surveyed the scene at the orphanage. Despite the trauma of the day, the children looked unscathed. Sister Rosita had let them all outside to play once the danger was past – they had resumed their soccer game, while Rosita and the CBI team looked on, going over everything that had happened.

"Is anybody hurt?" Hightower demanded.

"You mean besides the guy Van Pelt handed his nuts to?" Cho asked.

Rigsby didn't look amused, though Grace beamed with pride. "I did, didn't I?"

"You could've been killed," Rigsby said.

"Well, I wasn't," Van Pelt returned evenly. She looked at Jane. "So – where's Ellie? We figured if they let us go, your plan must've…"

She paled when she saw the look in his eye, her own filling with tears in an instant.

"Oh no," she said softly. Her gaze followed his back to the car, where Lisbon was seated silently in the front seat, staring at nothing.

"So Tommy…?" Rigsby prompted.

"Didn't make it," Jane completed for him.

"Is Boss all right?" Van Pelt asked.

"What do you think?" Cho asked. He looked genuinely distraught at the knowledge of Lisbon's loss. He shook his head, his jaw tensed. "They played us from the start. Ellie knew every move we were gonna make – including you warning us," he said to Jane. "They got the jump on us before we could even get in gear."

"I did everything exactly as she expected me to," Jane said. Beyond his concern for Lisbon, the fact that he'd been bested in a game of wits always grated.

"But she didn't kill you guys – that's something, right?" Rigsby asked, as always doing his best to find a bright side.

"Only thanks to Gale Bertram," Hightower said.

The team looked at her in confusion. From there, it took a surprisingly short amount of time for them to explain Bertram's appearance at the hotel, the shot that killed Tommy, and Bertram's apparently pivotal role in the Red John conspiracy.

While this was happening, Jane was still keeping watch over the car. When Isadora approached Lisbon, tapping lightly on her window, he jogged over to intervene. Lisbon had already rolled down the window, however – Jane stood to the side, waiting to see if he was needed.

"This is for you," Isadora said, in halting English. She handed what looked like a photograph through the window, putting it gently in Lisbon's trembling hand. "Gracias. For everything you did. Gracias."

Lisbon accepted the gift, nodding silently. She rolled the window back up as Isadora walked away, and Jane stood there watching as she stared at the mysterious photograph. Her eyes were still dry, but Jane could see the first vestiges of grief forcing itself through the haze.

"We need to get you all home," Hightower said with unexpected gentleness, when Jane returned to the others.

LaRoche nodded. His face glistened with perspiration, his ill-fitting suit soaked through.

"We do," he agreed. "And while we don't need to talk about it now, there will naturally be… repercussions, for your choices."

"Plenty of them, as a matter of fact," Hightower agreed. A harder edge crept into her voice. "I've got half a mind to fire every one of you. Now, come on. There's a flight leaving Zacatecas in a couple of hours… We should be home by midnight."

It was a beleaguered and bedraggled CBI crew that boarded at La Calera Airport that afternoon. Lisbon still hadn't spoken, the photograph Isadora had given her still clutched tightly in her hand. She stared listlessly out the window for the duration of their drive to the airport and, now, in the plane. Jane remained by her side, determined to remain there for as long as he possibly could. The only time she'd broken her silence was when Van Pelt attempted to hug her, once they'd arrived at the airport. Then, she had pushed the woman away with a quiet but firm, "Please, Grace."

It was a very long trip back to Sacramento.

* * *

><p>They reached the city at just after eleven o'clock that night. Jane took Hightower aside shortly before they landed, a sense of urgency ruffling his usually cool exterior.<p>

"I need to ask a favor of you," he said seriously. He'd had to ask LaRoche to switch seats with him, an awkward endeavor on such a small plane. It was clear from the look on Madeleine's face that she knew exactly what this was about.

"Patrick, I have to take you in – you broke out of jail and left the _country_, for God's sake. You're awaiting a murder trial. You – "

He nodded, dismissing all of it with a single gesture.

"I kept your secret, Madeleine. Never told a soul where you were – "

"Oh, we're playing that card now?" she said, her eyes flashing. "Because as I remember it, that was as much about flushing out Red John as it was saving my hide. Probably more."

She was right, of course. He felt a wave of fatigue course through him, bone deep. He had no more energy for charm, wheedling, or even blackmail.

"One night," he said. "Please. Lisbon will be going back to Chicago tomorrow – she'll be all right then." Even as he said it, he doubted the truth of that statement. "She shouldn't be alone tonight."

"We'll take care of her, Patrick."

His eyes slid from hers. When he returned her gaze, she tilted her head slightly, looking at him in a way that suggested she understood far more than he'd like about what had transpired over the past few days.

"She needs me to be there," he said quietly. "Please, Madeleine."

Hightower's jaw tightened as she considered his request. Finally, she nodded.

"But I swear to God, Patrick, if you're not in that apartment tomorrow morning when we come for you, I'll hunt you down and string you up myself."

"I'll be there," he promised, flashing a grin of relief. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Thank you."

* * *

><p>Lisbon didn't appear to recall that Jane was supposed to be on his way to prison. She'd said almost nothing from the moment Tommy was killed, and when Jane told her she would sleep at his apartment that night, she merely nodded.<p>

By the time they got to his place, he was beginning to think it would have been smarter to take her to the hospital. She was clearly in shock, her body still trembling faintly more than twelve hours after the shooting.

"Do you want something to eat?" he asked, once they'd gotten inside and he'd turned on the lights. It felt surreal to be back – as though their thousand-mile journey and everything that had transpired during it, was just a dream.

Lisbon stood in his living room, staring at his partially spackled wall. He touched her shoulder, and she started.

"Easy," he soothed. "I asked if you want something to eat. I could make eggs – an omelet?"

She shook her head. He settled for tea and toast – he'd been with her all day, and knew for a fact that she hadn't eaten a bite. When he brought them to her, Lisbon was sitting in the middle of his couch, her hands in her lap. Staring at the floor.

He set the plate and saucer on the table in front of her. She looked away, as though the sight of food repulsed her.

"What about a shower?" he asked.

For the first time, a flicker of recognition touched her eyes.

"That'd be good," she said. Her voice was hoarse from hours of disuse.

While she was showering, Jane sat in the kitchen on high alert – waiting for some sign that she was falling to pieces in his half-finished bathroom. There was none. Half an hour later, Lisbon came out wearing the clean shirt he'd given her, her hair still wet. He looked for signs that she'd been crying, but there was no tell-tale redness, no puffiness around the lids.

Though she was no longer shaking, her pupils were still dilated, her eyes as blank as they'd been all day. It was after midnight when he led her to bed. She reluctantly set the photograph Isadora had given her earlier in the day – now crumpled from having been held so tightly for hours on end – on his nightstand. Isadora and Ernesto grinned at the camera, both of them squinting against bright sunshine.

Lisbon crawled under the blankets without looking at him.

"Do you need anything else? I could stay, if you like." He was hovering. Jane never hovered – he found the whole situation foreign. Maddening. Right now, he honestly couldn't think of anything he could do differently. Lisbon shook her head.

"I just want to get some sleep," she said. "It's been a long day."

He almost laughed at that, but stopped when he realized she was too far gone to have meant it as a joke. He nodded quickly.

"Right. Well… You know where to find me."

She nodded, curling into herself beneath the blankets as he turned off the bedside lamp. He found himself waiting for her to say something once the lights were out. Over the past few days, Jane had learned that Lisbon seemed most likely to open up when she was protected by darkness. Tonight, she didn't say a word.

He went to the couch and prepared for bed.

* * *

><p>It was just after three a.m. when Jane heard his apartment door open and close softly. He lay on the couch for a moment, disoriented, before he realized where he was. The events of the past three days came flooding back.<p>

When he got up he found that his bed was empty – as he'd expected. Standing at his front door, he could hear Lisbon crying quietly in the hallway. He turned on the kitchen light and put water on to boil, taking his time. He made more toast, then fetched a blanket and went to her.

Her tears had slowed by the time he reached her. She sat in his hallway shivering, her bare legs covered with goosebumps, her face blotchy from crying. He sat down beside her and set the tea and toast on the floor in front of them, pulling the blanket 'round both of them.

"You know," he said lightly, "It's a good thing I don't have any neighbors up here. Bloody dollhouses, murders in the apartment below me, half-dressed women crying in my hallway… My reputation would undoubtedly suffer, with all these goings-ons."

Lisbon actually laughed at that – a rough and broken laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. She put her arm through his, curling in next to him under the blanket. When she lay her head on his shoulder, he looked at her in surprise.

"You're very snuggly tonight."

"I'm in shock," she said evenly.

"Well, that explains it, then." He was so relieved to hear her return to levity that he felt a sudden urge to weep himself, though he managed to keep that sentiment to himself.

"You'll be all right, Teresa," he said, when she'd gone quiet again. "It hurts like hell until…" He thought about it for a moment, and sighed. "It never really stops hurting like hell. But you survive."

"It's not the same," she said. He wasn't sure what she meant, but waited patiently for her to explain. She was still shivering. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer to him.

"You losing your wife and daughter," she finally said. "It's not the same as me losing Tommy. He was my brother – but he wasn't my life. I don't know how you walk and talk." Her voice broke. He leaned in and kissed the top of her head softly. "This sucks," she said, as a fresh wave of tears rolled down her cheeks.

Jane laughed at the unexpected – but certainly apt – declaration.

"It does," he agreed.

"I haven't told my brothers yet... They don't even know he was in danger. I should have called them. And Anna Beth..." She trailed off, her voice hitching. A fresh shiver ran through her slim frame.

"You'll call them in the morning," he said.

"They're shipping the body back to Chicago." She paused. "God… That sounds so weird. The body. Who the hell came up with that? Like it's not even him anymore."

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, seemingly trying to physically staunch the flow of anymore tears.

"You brought me more tea," she said, when she'd dropped her hands.

"Would you like some?"

She shook her head. "I hate tea."

"Oh." His forehead furrowed at this somewhat troubling news. Lisbon reached up and kissed his cheek gently.

"Thank you for making it for me, though."

"Of course."

They sat on the floor of his hallway for a bit longer – their backs against the wall, blanket around them, Jane's arm around Lisbon's shoulders. Gradually, her shivering stopped. She looked at him.

"We should talk, Patrick," she said.

He frowned. "There's really no need. You've already said everything you need to say about last night… It was good we were there for one another."

It bothered him more than he wanted to admit, this insistence that the whole thing had just been her seeking comfort – _And, _it bothered him that he was bothered. A bigger man would just be happy to have been there, he was certain. He squelched the urge to sigh mightily, instead squeezing her shoulders as he dropped another kiss on the crown of her head.

"Besides," he said lightly, "I'll most likely be in prison by noon tomorrow, and I expect it won't be such an easy matter getting out this time. So, unless you plan on waiting for me…"

She punched him in the side, and he was surprised when he realized she was crying again. "Don't joke about that," she said, sniffling.

"Ssh. It's all right." He stroked her hair, waiting for her to get hold of herself once more. "Heavens, Lisbon, I didn't know someone so small could hold so much salt water."

Within thirty seconds, she was laughing through her tears. She rubbed her eyes and brushed the hair back from her forehead with a frustrated, exhausted sigh. "I know. I haven't cried this much since I was a kid. I'm a basket case."

He considered this a moment, rather than dismissing it outright. "I prefer weeping Lisbon to catatonic Lisbon, I must say. Though at this point I think you've sniffled weepily into every dress shirt I own."

She punched him again. He recoiled. "You know, you really do need to find other ways to express your frustration with me. You're stronger than you realize."

"Or you're just a wimp."

"That's a distinct possibility."

He stood, twisting to the right and left to ease the kinks from his back before he held out his hand.

"Up you go, dear. Let's try to get a few hours' sleep before another day dawns."

She accepted his proffered hand, letting him take her full weight as he pulled her to her feet. It was nothing, really, but for some reason he found himself counting that simple gesture as yet another sign of progress between the two of them.

* * *

><p>This time when Jane went to leave Lisbon in his bed, she caught his arm without looking at him.<p>

"Jane…"

He waited, selfishly unwilling to make this easier for her – even in her current state. It didn't say good things about his strength of character, he knew, but there it was. Even with a grieving woman – his best friend, no less – in his bed, he couldn't seem to forget his own ego.

"I just…" She bit her lip, quickly retreating back into herself at his inability to meet her halfway. He was an ass, he realized immediately – eight years as a widower with a singular thirst for vengeance hadn't changed that about him.

"You'd like me to stay?" he guessed, saying the words, finally, because he knew she would never be able to ask.

"I don't mean…" she hesitated. "It's not about the sex."

"I know," he said. And he did.

It was about the connection. It had been years since he'd felt that connection – or at least been willing to admit to it. Now, suddenly, he found that he understood exactly what she meant. And for the first time since losing his family, he felt he might be ready to allow someone close enough to explore that connection… Maybe even nurse it into something more lasting. It was an odd feeling, for him: Patrick Jane didn't believe in happy endings or second chances. He didn't believe that people were innately good, or that anyone ever truly changed. But this… This felt surprisingly like hope, from a man who had given up on the idea long ago.

He got under the blankets beside Teresa and pulled her close, feeling her body relax into his. Tomorrow, there would be fallout from everything that had transpired. Lisbon would go to Chicago to bury her youngest sibling. Jane would go to prison. Somewhere not terribly far away, Gale Bertram would start a new life with the surrogate daughter he had raised to be a monster.

There was nothing to make Jane believe that things could possibly work out for the best. Lisbon tightened her arms around him.

"Thank you," she said quietly, into his chest.

And, like that, he found himself believing – not in happy endings or fairy tales, but in the innate goodness of the woman in his arms. In the value of friendship and comfort, and the possibility of something more. He dropped another kiss on her head, the scent of cinnamon and cloves chasing away the ghosts that, he knew, would linger for him for the rest of his life. His wedding ring was on the top of his bureau. Red John was dead.

"Thank _you_," he returned, just as quietly.

He closed his eyes, and waited for sleep to come.

_TBC_

_Stay tuned for the Epilogue tomorrow. Hope you've enjoyed this story half as much as I've enjoyed writing it! _


	25. Epilogue

_**And... This is it, kids. I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed writing for this fandom, or how much I'm gonna miss these guys (and you all!) now that I'm done. There is, as I'd mentioned before, definitely a sequel to this story, but I won't be able to begin posting until at least December, as my own novel comes out on December 1st. November's pretty much about publicity and getting all my ducks in a row for that, so there's not a lot of time for fic. But I'll definitely be back! **_

_**In the meantime, if you want to support my RL writing (and by extension, my fic writing, because if I don't have to work six jobs to pay the rent while simultaneously writing novels, then I have that much more time to devote to ff :)), you can visit my website at www[dot]jenblood[dot]com - or follow me on Twitter, at www[dot]twitter[dot]com/jenblood.  
><strong>_

_**And finally, just a quick note to all of you who were kind enough to leave feedback, to let you know just how much I appreciate your encouragement and kind words. LittleMender, Chiisano Minako, Kaoh, deeleigh, TeresaLisbonCBI, AngryLittlePrincess, visagoth, mwalter1, aekz, williwaw, Lcsaf, Belle-irina, piratemonkey06, crzychigurl343, xanderseye, and so many others - It's been a pleasure writing this, and your feedback has made my day (and sometimes my week) on more than one occasion. And to my Mentalist-obsessed, fangirl compadre lizook: Thanks for the phenomenal reviews, the sharing of squee, and the rambly e-mails that help to assure me that I'm not alone in this fangirl world. Love ya, Chica! **_

_**And now...**  
><em>

_Epilogue_

Lisbon called three weeks to the day after Tommy's death. Jane knew for a fact that she had spoken with the other members of the team during the time she'd been gone, but she made no such effort with him. He wasn't hurt by it, really – he understood the impulse to create some distance, in many ways. On his darker days, he wondered if she would ever be able to be in the same room with him again, without thinking about Ellie Jennings, and her brother's torturous final days.

But then, she called. It was nearly midnight and he was at home, though of course he hadn't been sleeping.

"Hey, it's me," she began.

He felt an unmistakable jolt at the sound of her voice.

"Lisbon! Well, hello."

"Hi."

There was a long silence. Jane shifted on his couch, picturing her in Chicago – in one of her brother's houses, no doubt, in her t-shirt and her ponytail, her forehead furrowed in thought.

"Lisbon?"

"Yeah – uh, sorry. I just… I just wanted to call, and thank you for the flowers."

"Of course." He'd sent a bouquet of lilies for the funeral – nothing extravagant, but it was at least some kind of gesture in lieu of actually being there for her. When more silence ensued, Jane finally prompted her. "I suppose it's silly to ask how you are."

He could almost hear her shrug. He wasn't terribly surprised at how solid she sounded when she finally spoke.

"I'm all right," she said. "It's been good being here. Seeing the boys and the rest of the family… I think it's the first time we've all been together without wanting to kill each other since my mom was alive."

"Tragedy has a funny way of doing that," Jane said.

"Yeah. It does."

He knew that she spoke from experience. It was one of the reasons he'd been so drawn to her all this time – the fact that she came from such a hellish background and still managed to be extraordinary on so many levels made it impossible for him to become mired in his own self pity without seeming completely pathetic.

"I'm sorry I didn't call after the trial," she said.

"Eh – you had a lot going on. I understood."

"Still… Quite a coup." In his mind's eye, he pictured her shaking her head at him. "Defending yourself on a murder charge after fleeing the country, and getting off with nothing but a fine and a little community service? Is there nothing you can't talk your way out of?"

"It was easy once they bought the self-defense plea," he said.

"Yeah, I'll bet."

In fact, it hadn't been easy at all; the past three weeks had been wrought with doubt and misgivings and the very real belief that he was destined to spend the rest of his life in prison. Once, not so long ago, that had been an acceptable outcome – making Red John pay for the murder of his family was enough, and he was prepared to take whatever was handed to him in judgment.

Now, suddenly, he found himself not quite so willing to accept that his life had effectively ended with Red John's death. When he'd heard the jury pronounce him not guilty on the charge of murder, and then gift him with what amounted to a slap on the wrist for breaking out of jail and leaving the country, he hadn't quite believed his good fortune.

"So, do you have a date for when you're returning?" he asked, unwilling to spend anymore time on the topic.

"Tomorrow, actually."

He grinned despite himself. "Tomorrow – really? That's good news."

"Is it?" There was a definite hint of that old Lisbon suspicion in her voice.

"Of course. Cho is good at his job, but he's no Teresa Lisbon. There's almost no time for naps… And I get no extra credit from him for bringing in hot coffee or bear claws."

She laughed at that. Someone shouted to her from the other room. She put her hand over the phone, but he could still hear her call out to them.

"I'll be out in a sec."

"Where are you?" he asked, once he knew she was back.

"James' place. He's got three kids besides Anna Beth, plus we've had a couple cousins staying around… It's nuts here."

"Yes, but where?" he persisted. "Where in the house, I mean?"

"The bathroom," she admitted reluctantly. The mental image made him smile. He resisted the urge to ask what she was wearing, though it was difficult.

"But it's still good to be with family?" he guessed.

"Surprisingly, yeah," she agreed. She hesitated a moment. "I miss home, though. It'll be good to get back to work. See everybody again."

He grinned, recognizing that he played at least some role in that 'everybody.'

"I'm sure everybody will be glad to see you, too," he said. "I believe everybody has missed you a great deal."

He pictured her blush, the embarrassed roll of her eyes.

"Yeah, well… I'll be back tomorrow, and back to work on Tuesday."

"Do you need someone to pick you up at the airport?" he asked, the thought just occurring to him.

She hesitated for a good ten seconds. "I – uh, yeah. I do, I guess. That's kind of why I was calling."

"Ah. Well… I'm happy to do it."

"Good – maybe we could talk then."

She definitely wasn't going to make this easy. "Lisbon, I told you – there's nothing to talk about. We're fine."

"Are we?" she asked, the doubt plain in her voice. "Because I've gotta tell you, Jane… I still feel a little weird about everything."

"Well, you shouldn't. Whatever happened – "

There was another rapping on the door.

"I'll be out in a second, dammit!" Lisbon shouted, this time just barely getting her hand over the phone before the words were out. Jane winced, pulling his own phone away from his ear.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," he said, once she was back on the line. "But honestly, Lisbon, there's nothing to worry about. We're both adults."

She scoffed at that. "Yeah, right. I just want to be able to get back to the CBI and get back to work, without having to worry about… Stuff."

"Stuff?" he smirked.

"You know what I mean."

And another knock on the door.

"I swear to God, Jimmy, if you don't – "

"Lisbon, I'm hanging up now. E-mail me your itinerary, and I'll meet you at baggage claim."

"All right, yeah. And, Patrick?" She paused a moment. "I really have missed…everybody."

He couldn't squelch his face-splitting grin. "I'll see you tomorrow, Teresa."

* * *

><p>Mondays meant Jane's weekly knitting session with Rachel Fellows, back at the CBI – though since he'd only been back a few days himself, this was his first appointment with the good doctor since the previous month's olfactory breakthrough. He strolled into her office five minutes late, munching on an apple. Rachel looked up from her knitting, motioning him to the sofa.<p>

"I heard Teresa's back tomorrow," she said, straight off. Jane worked very hard to school his face into an impassive mask.

"Yes, I heard," he said.

While he'd been incarcerated this last time, Rachel had come to see him twice. Though he had been less than forthcoming about his and Lisbon's misadventures, he had the uneasy feeling that the woman had correctly guessed much of what had transpired.

"You're picking her up at the airport?"

Jane helped himself to her basket of knitting, selecting the same blue yarn he'd started with last time.

"You're very nosy," he said.

She smiled at that. "I know. It's a curse."

Her eyes fell to his left hand. After Lisbon left, he'd put his wedding ring back on – more because by not doing so, he was sure to invite questions and speculation from everyone on the team. It felt odd, though… As though it wasn't quite the right size anymore; like he was trying to fit into a suit he'd outgrown some time ago. He resisted the urge to play with the gold band, and began knitting instead.

"What's your story?" Jane asked suddenly. "You're the one who was all about how conversation is supposed to be a shared experience… Why don't you share something for a change?"

She didn't seem at all surprised by the request. "What do you want to know?"

"Your 'partner,'" he said, making air quotes with his fingers as he indicated a photograph of Rachel with a very attractive black woman, set facing away from him on her desk. "I've seen her somewhere before. How long have you been together?"

She looked up from her knitting and met his eye. "Three years now."

His surprise must have shown on his face.

"You thought longer?"

"You look very close. And you seem like a woman who's been with someone a long time."

"We've known each other a long time. It was complicated."

Jane considered this, growing more curious by the minute. "You were married before," he said, after a bit. "You have children… And, pardon my saying so, but you're not really of an age where fertility clinics and same sex parenting would have been commonplace."

"I was."

A shadow crossed her face. She grew serious, setting her knitting aside for a moment.

"Do you feel differently, now that Red John is dead?"

It took him a minute or two of careful thought before he answered the question honestly. "Yes. I didn't know that I would… I wasn't really doing it so that I would feel better."

"You were doing it for your family," she said. Her tone implied that she didn't entirely believe that. Jane didn't fight her on it – he wasn't entirely sure he believed it himself.

"And now that Bertram and Ellie Jennings killed Lisbon's brother, emotionally tortured both of you… Where does that leave you in the quest for vengeance?"

"That's not my fight," he said simply.

Rachel arched an eyebrow at him.

"What – you don't believe me? I'll be there for Lisbon, of course… Whatever she wants to do, I'll stand with her. I'll help track him down, bring them to justice as she'll no doubt choose – "

"You don't think she'll be out for blood?"

He shook his head, without a moment's hesitation. "It's not in her. And…" Though he hated to admit it, she'd been right that night when they were in his hallway. "It wasn't the same for her. Angie and Charlotte were my life. They didn't take everything from Lisbon – they took an integral piece of her. But not everything."

"She still has you," Rachel said.

"And the rest of the team, and her job, and the rest of her family," he returned, purposely pretending he didn't know where she was leading.

"And _you_," she said, more insistent now.

Jane rolled his eyes heavenward. "Yes, fine. She still has me."

They returned to their knitting for a few minutes, before Rachel spoke again.

"She cares about you – more than she'd ever admit. Whatever happened between you in Mexico – " Jane started to deny it, but she held up a hand to shush him. "Please… I spoke to Teresa on the phone last week, and she practically burned up the phone line blushing when I asked what happened between you two. And you can't even look me in the eye. So, clearly…"

He looked at her seriously. "It's no one's business," he said. "You didn't see her while we were out there – she was a different woman. Terrified, injured, completely off balance. She just needed someone there to keep her sane until our showdown with Ellie – however it turned out."

"Someone," Rachel said doubtfully. "Any old someone would do, I suppose."

"Of course not." He was rapidly growing tired of the conversation. "There's no question that Lisbon and I share a bond – even she wouldn't deny that. She trusts me. I trust her. It was…" He trailed off, more and more irritated to be talking about something that seemed so deeply personal to both of them.

"The reason I'm bringing this up," Rachel said, as though reading his mind, "is because I think it's important that you get a little perspective before you ruin this."

"Ruin what? Honestly, old woman, I think you've gone senile. You're not hearing me – it was the circumstances. Lisbon's said as much half a dozen times."

"And _you're_ not hearing me," she said, with a hint of fire to her eyes. "How many people do you think Teresa Lisbon has trusted in her life? I'm not talking about sex, I'm talking about allowing someone into her life – every aspect of it. Allowing someone to see her hurt, actually trusting them enough to seek comfort. My guess is, just about as many people as you have. Probably fewer. So, before you go pick her up at the airport and chalk everything that happened up to 'circumstance,' I'd like you to set your ego aside for just a moment and consider the fact that she may be even more terrified than you are."

"Wait." He shook his head in confusion. He'd completely made a mess of his knitting project – Rachel's grandchildren would have to have hideously deformed elephant feet to fit into the booty he was making.

"Dating within a unit is strictly prohibited under CBI guidelines. You're saying I should just forget that? That _Lisbon _should just forget that? Because if you are, you clearly have never met the woman."

"I'm not saying take her to the prom, for Christ's sake," she said grumpily. She set her knitting down again with an irritated clatter. Jane squelched a smile.

"She's not ready to date, anyway. Neither of you are. I'm simply saying, don't write off the feelings you have as unrequited."

"Who says I even have any feelings," he said. He sounded petulant and utterly unconvincing.

"Right. My mistake. Well… Do whatever you want, then. I'll just leave you with this – Teresa's not an easy woman, but she _is_ an extraordinary one. And she's worth the extra effort, if you _should _decide you have feelings that you'd like to pursue."

Jane didn't say anything to that for a bit. Finally, he resumed his knitting once more. He could feel Rachel smiling at him.

"So, we're done?" she asked.

"We're done," he confirmed.

They spent the remaining fifty minutes knitting in silence, while Jane considered her words.

* * *

><p>Lisbon's plane came in at seven that evening. Jane found himself unaccountably anxious, waiting for her at baggage claim. He'd considered bringing flowers, but realized that was precisely the sort of sign she'd be looking for – she was likely to turn tail and head back to Chicago if he was waiting with so much as a dandelion, he was certain.<p>

Besides which, he didn't know that Rachel Fellows really had any clue what she was talking about. She was an old woman given to rambling and delusions by her own admission – it hardly made sense for him to put stock into anything she had to say. He and Lisbon were friends. Good friends. The fact that they had shared something more intimate while on the road together under shatteringly stressful conditions notwithstanding, they would remain good friends.

And that was all there was to it.

He felt a slight rush all the same, when he caught sight of her headed to baggage claim. He embraced her before she had a chance to make the moment awkward, and was genuinely pleased when she hugged him back.

"You look good," he said, somewhat surprised to realize that he meant it. There was more sadness to her eyes, true, but at least she looked rested and as though she hadn't skipped too many meals while she'd been gone.

"Thanks."

They stood at the conveyor belt watching the luggage unload in silence, until Jane finally resorted to small talk to get the conversation flowing.

"How was the flight?"

She glanced at him, her dimple showing at his weak attempt to fill the silence. "Fine. I'll be glad to get home, though."

"So, you're going back to your apartment, then?"

For the first time, a hint of the vulnerability he'd seen before showed through. "Yeah," she said. "I've gotta do it eventually, right?"

"You could do it tomorrow," he suggested. "In the light of day, when you haven't been stuck in airports for hours on end."

"Jane," she said – a warning, if ever he'd heard one.

He held up his hands in surrender. "I didn't say you had to stay with me. I'm sure Grace has room at her place, or you could get a hotel… I'm simply saying you might want to get your bearings before going back to an apartment still stained with your brother's blood."

She flinched at that, and he instantly regretted his bluntness.

"Sorry," he said lamely. "That sounded better in my head."

"It's fine, Jane," she said with an unconvincing shrug.

They got her luggage and went to his car in silence. Once they'd put her things in the trunk, he stopped her before she got into the passenger's seat, his hand on her cheek.

"What are you – "

"It doesn't look so bad," he said, indicating the scar on her face – no longer bandaged, but still pink and angry looking. "It makes you look tough."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah. I'm sure it'll do wonders for my love life."

He stroked her cheek with his thumb, holding her gaze. "I think you'd be surprised," he said, with a bit of a grin.

She blushed clear to her roots.

"Ja-ane," he said, at the exact moment and in the exact same, sing-song, warning tone as Lisbon. She couldn't quite suppress a smile of her own as she rolled her eyes, pulling away slightly.

"Are you gonna drive me home or do I have to call a cab?"

"No, no. I'm at your service, Lisbon. Hop in."

They'd been on the road for a good five minutes before she finally spoke.

"There was another reason I asked you to pick me up," she said. "I wanted a chance to talk to you, away from everyone else."

He wondered idly just how many times they would have to go over this before he was able to convince her that they were all right.

"Teresa, do I have to engrave it on my forehead? We're fine."

"Yeah, I know. That's not what I want to talk to you about," she said unexpectedly. He looked at her in surprise. "Look, I'm not saying that I'm not still a little uncomfortable about what happened in Mexico, but you're right – we're both adults. There was a lot going on… It was bound to happen, considering what we are to each other."

"And what is that, exactly?" he asked, glancing at her with genuine curiosity before he forced his eyes back to the road.

"You know."

"Humor me."

She shifted in her seat. "That's not what I wanted to talk to you about," she repeated.

He let it go for the moment. "All right – what _did _you want to talk about, then?"

There was a long, distinctly charged pause between them. Traffic was light and the night was cooler than it had been – they drove with the windows down, the breeze blowing Lisbon's hair lightly around her face. She gnawed on her fingernail for a moment, before she finally spoke.

"LaRoche is taking over for Bertram," she said.

"You know that for certain?" Jane asked, though he wasn't particularly surprised.

"Yeah. I talked to Hightower a couple days ago – they'll make the announcement later this week."

"And this is a bad thing?"

"No." She shook her head. "No, it's not that. I'm off suspension from the whole leaving the country with you thing… I've talked to LaRoche, and I've already been reinstated. Things can go back to the way they were."

"Lisbon, you'll need to help me out here. Clearly, you're distressed, but so far everything you've told me sounds like good news for you and the CBI."

She curled into herself slightly, her gaze fixed on the night as it sped past her window.

"LaRoche won't let me work the case," she said – so quietly he had to strain to hear her.

"The Bertram/Jennings case," he guessed.

"Yeah." She shook her head again, her frustration already showing. "He says he saw what it did to everybody, having you work the Red John case. I tried to explain to him that it's not the same thing…"

Jane searched for the nearest exit and got off the highway without saying a word. They ended up in a quiet spot overlooking the city, the lights stretching on as far as the eye could see as the sun set on the horizon. He stopped the car and turned to her.

"This is what you wanted to talk to me about," he said.

She avoided his eye, nodding. "Yeah. I know what you're thinking – "

"And what is that, exactly?"

This time, she met his gaze. Her chin tipped up defiantly. "I don't want to kill them – that's not what it's about. It's about getting them off the streets before they find somebody else to torture. Before _they_ kill again."

"And about making sure your brother didn't die in vain?" he guessed, his voice softer now.

She nodded again, her eyes filling suddenly. She looked away, swallowing past the pain. Though she put on a good show, he realized at once that the loss of her brother had left her far more raw than she was willing to let anyone see. Lisbon didn't do vulnerable terribly well.

"I thought maybe I could get your help," she said, her eyes focused on his hands rather than his face when she made the request. Once the hard part was over, her voice gained strength. "I've been doing some digging… Bertram used to be an administrator at the group home where Ellie and Red John met – that must've been where he spotted them, or recruited them, or whatever the hell it was he did. Another couple of kids went missing there… I think he took them, too. If we can – "

He put a hand on her arm. "Teresa."

She stopped short, looking at him. A stray tear spilled from her eye, but she brushed it away quickly.

"Yeah?"

He studied her closely. She'd been sleeping. She'd been eating. She looked sad, determined – but not obsessed. At least, not yet. He considered his words carefully before he spoke.

"I'll help you – but only on two conditions."

It was clear from the look on her face that she didn't like being in such a position, but eventually she agreed. "What are they?" she asked suspiciously.

"One – when we find Bertram, wherever he is, you don't go after him yourself. We tell the authorities immediately."

Her eyes widened. Though she tried to squelch a grin, she was entirely unsuccessful.

"Oh, now you're laughing at me?" he asked.

"You're telling _me_ we've gotta call the cops?" She shook her head ruefully. "It's official – the whole world's gone nuts. Okay… Yeah, we'll call the cops as soon as we track him down. I told you, I'm not out for blood here, Patrick. What's the other condition?"

He hesitated, Rachel Fellows' words ringing in his head. _She's worth the extra effort. _

"Jane?" she asked, starting to look uneasy.

"_And,_" he said, arching his eyebrow dramatically, "you don't go back to your apartment tonight."

This time, she laughed aloud. Honestly, she was enough to damage a man's ego irreparably.

"Lisbon."

"You're gonna blackmail me into spending the night with you? That's low, Jane – even for you." Though she'd stopped laughing, she was having a difficult time containing her mirth.

"I was trying to be chivalrous," he said. He threw his hands in the air. "Forget it, woman, it's clearly lost on you. I just think it would be better for you to wait until tomorrow to go back to your apartment. That's all. Once again, your mind sinks to the depths while I'm sitting here with nothing but honorable intentions."

"Oh, I know all about you and your honorable intentions," she said dryly, a sexy little smirk on her face.

"I don't even know what that means, but your implication clearly has something to do with our night of passion, _Saint _Teresa. I'd think twice before you begin playing that game."

She sputtered and blushed as Jane put the car in gear, headed for his apartment without a second thought.

* * *

><p>By the time they reached his place, Jane found himself feeling downright giddy to have Lisbon back. He followed her to the elevator and down the familiar hallway to his loft as she looked around in surprise.<p>

"You cleaned up all the boxes."

"They said it was a fire hazard," he said promptly.

She didn't believe him, but that was all right. She almost never did, anyway.

When they reached his door, she stepped aside to allow him to unlock it.

"Go ahead," he said. "It's open."

She gave him a patented, highly suspicious Lisbon pout, and pushed open the door. The moment she saw what was waiting for her, she broke into a grin.

There, seated at the kitchen table, were Cho, Van Pelt, and Rigsby, sedately playing cards. They looked up with studied nonchalance.

"Oh – hey, Boss," Van Pelt said casually.

"What is this?" she asked, turning to Jane.

He shrugged. "We were in the midst of a card game when I had to stop to pick you up. I didn't mention that?"

"No," she said. "Go figure." She stood watching for a moment as the trio continued to pretend at playing cards. "So – what's a girl got to do to get a hug around here?"

At the invitation, Van Pelt sprang from her chair, while Rigsby and Cho followed at a slightly more sedate – but no less eager – pace. Jane subtly set Lisbon's things in the living room, managing to stifle a smirk when Rigsby slipped him the twenty he'd bet that Jane couldn't convince Lisbon to spend her first night home at his place.

Once greetings had been exchanged, Lisbon took in his loft for the first time. She shook her head at the progress he'd made. It was impressive, he knew – new windows, the furniture all in its proper place, walls and good lighting and a genuinely homey air about it.

"This is incredible – you did this in three weeks?"

"Nice, isn't it? Though I admit I had some help."

"_Some _help?" Rigsby echoed in disbelief. "More like we did the whole thing, while he was cooling his heels in jail."

"All except the one wall," Grace pointed out, indicating the partially spackled wall in the living area. Clearly, she was still puzzled. "He wouldn't let us do anything to that one."

Lisbon looked at him with a pleased smile. "Aw, Jane… You left that wall for me?"

Jane shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet a bit as he ducked his head in embarrassment. "Eh – I suppose I did. It was nothing." Just before Lisbon could be sucked in by his act, he looked at her with the devil in his grin. "Besides, I like it when you come over and spackle my walls."

Rigsby snickered, which prompted Grace to hit him so hard in the arm that he yelped.

"Watch it, Rigsby," Jane warned. "These CBI women are hell on men who bruise easily. The fairer sex my eye."

"So, are we gonna play cards or what?" Cho interrupted, effectively putting an end to the banter.

Lisbon and the others took seats around the table without further invitation.

"What are we playing?" Lisbon asked.

"Texas Hold 'Em," Rigsby said.

"Do you have anything to eat?" Lisbon looked at Jane apologetically. "They didn't have much on the plane."

"Wayne ate all the pizza," Grace said.

"I didn't eat _all _the pizza," Rigsby argued. "You guys ate some, too."

"Van Pelt got half a slice and I got the other half before you inhaled the rest," Cho said. "I think you've got a tapeworm."

Jane grinned, hopping up from his seat. "You guys play – I'll whip something up. What's your pleasure, Lisbon? I've got eggs, I've got quiche, I've got some leftover Thai from the other night…"

"You've got Thai?" Rigsby asked.

"Seriously, man," Cho said, his eyes never leaving his cards. "You need to see someone."

"What's in the quiche?" Lisbon wanted to know.

"The same thing that's always in quiche," Jane explained patiently. He was aware that he was beaming, but he didn't even care. "Eggs, cheese, bacon – "

"Ooh," Grace interrupted. "That sounds good. Is there enough for two?"

Cho finished dealing the cards while Jane heated the quiche, dumping the remaining Thai food on a plate and microwaving it for Rigsby. As he was washing up before rejoining the others, his wedding ring slipped off into the sink. He retrieved it and held it in his palm for a moment as though weighing it – thinking of what it meant, all that it had symbolized for him all these years. He thought of Angela and Charlotte, and for a moment the memory of their laughter washed over him.

When he looked up, he realized that Lisbon was watching him. He glanced at the gold band that had ruled his life for nearly two decades, then set it carefully on a shelf above the sink. Lisbon got up and joined him at the sink.

"You're looking very thoughtful."

"I'm happy," he said, only realizing the truth of the statement as it left his lips.

She raised her eyebrows at him. He realized that it was probably inappropriate to make such a declaration after what she'd lost, so he hurried to explain himself.

"Not about the outcome of the case, of course. Or what you had to go through... But happy that you're back," he said. "And that you're all right."

"And that you're not going to prison for the rest of your life?" she teased.

"To be fair, that does play a part."

"Well…" She hesitated, as though not certain whether to risk whatever it was she was about to say. "I'm glad you're not in prison for the rest of your life, too."

"Oh? Would you miss me, Lisbon?"

"I'd miss the cases you close," she said promptly, stifling a smile.

"That's just cruel. There's nothing about me personally that you'd miss? My roguish charm, my winning smile, my devil-may-care attitude?"

"Hmm…" She pretended to think about it for a long moment. "No, I'm pretty sure it'd just be your close rate."

"That stings, Lisbon." He leaned in closer, looking at her with purposeful danger in his eyes. "Well, I'd miss you."

"Are you gonna ante up or what, Boss?" Rigsby asked, putting an end to the moment before it had even begun.

"Yeah," Lisbon nodded quickly, looking at once relieved and - Jane was almost certain - just a little bit disappointed. "Sorry." She returned to the table and tossed a couple of pennies to the center of the table.

The game resumed.

Jane brought the food over, setting a plate in front of Van Pelt and another in front of Lisbon, lingering for just a moment when he caught the scent of cinnamon and cloves in her hair.

Van Pelt kicked Rigsby under the table.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Dude, did you just smell her hair?" Cho asked.

Lisbon's subtle blush of pink went crimson. "No, he didn't."

Van Pelt was desperately trying to call Rigsby's attention to the notable lack of a ring on Jane's finger, though Rigsby was still rubbing at his bruised shin.

"What?" Jane asked innocently. "Lisbon's hair smells good – a man can't smell someone's hair without it being made a federal case?"

"You never smelled my hair," Cho said.

Van Pelt tugged at her own ring finger, looking significantly at Rigsby. The poor man just looked baffled, until Grace finally shook her head in frustration.

"How can you be a CBI agent and be so clueless?" she huffed.

Rigsby merely shrugged, diving into the plate of Thai food Jane had set before him.

"If it means we get to come over and you feed us, you can smell my hair anytime you want, man," he said.

"You know who else would probably smell your hair if you let him, Boss," Van Pelt said. She looked at Jane meaningfully, and he glowered back at her. "Detective Montrose."

Lisbon looked up in surprise. "He's still hanging around?"

Cho and Rigsby exchanged a glance. "Probably not now," Cho said.

She looked at Jane. "What did you do?"

"Me?" he asked, his eyes wide with innocence. "I don't know what you mean. Someone may have given him the impression that you hadn't weathered the Bertram debacle quite as well as you have – "

"He told him you went nuts," Cho said. "Seriously, if we're not playing, I'm going home."

"You told him I had a breakdown?" Lisbon demanded, though he noted that the glare she gave him was hardly her worst.

"Meh – just a small one. If he's so squeamish he'd let a little stay in an asylum keep him from you, he's not the one, anyway."

Lisbon heaved a mighty sigh. The rest of the team looked at her expectantly, waiting to see how this would turn out. Finally, she picked up her cards.

"Are we playing or are we talking?" she asked.

Cho tipped his beer against hers gratefully. "Thank you. Let's move it along already."

Jane took a seat in between Cho and Lisbon, playing his hand without paying much attention to the game as it unfolded. Instead, he focused on the sounds of laughter and banter that filled his new kitchen; on the fleeting, subtle glances that Lisbon cast his way; on the odd sensation that he'd somehow been set free of a great burden.

He would help Lisbon, and they would find Bertram and Ellie Jennings. He didn't know how, and he didn't know when, but this time he knew that it wouldn't be about blood oaths or vengeance. It would be about _good, solid detective work_… And perhaps a little bit of vengeance. He grinned at the thought. And maybe, just maybe, somewhere along the way he could convince Lisbon that he was good for more than just closing cases.

Until then, though, he found himself astonishingly content with the present. The future was anyone's guess, but tonight Jane had a beautiful – albeit stubborn – woman by his side, good friends at his table, and a new puzzle in need of solving.

They would be all right.

_FIN_


End file.
